


Here Be Dragons

by Lyssandra_Med



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Creature Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Creature Fic, Creature Hermione Granger, Discord: Bellamione Cult, Dragon Hermione Granger, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Lesbian Dragons, Luna & Hermione & Neville friendship, Maybe lunamione, Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Soulmates, at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: “It’s… It’s not wrong of us to keep a child in a cage, right?” John looked down at little Hermione as she sat in her new ‘crib’, smile warm and bright as she shifted in her sleep.“I mean…,” Emma choked out as she stared down at Hermione asleep on her covers.“Yeah…”“... Yeah.”---Or; The Granger's take home a small child who turns out to be more, and Bellatrix Black finds herself all wrapped up in the resulting mess of tangled lies and shadowed conspiracy.





	1. A Fiery Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the result of LuluArting's wonderful AU idea; she deserves as much credit as she'll take.
> 
> This will be multi-chapter, not sure how long but we'll see.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

** _1979_ **

With a pensive breath and hands that shook like leaves, Thomas Marvolo Riddle set to pacing about his little hideaway for the umpteenth time this evening. The only thing that seemed to help with keeping his wits and courage about him was the looping knowledge that where others were mere men, _ he _ was more. 

An aspiring Dark Lord.

Winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor award for three years running.

Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at the prestigious and world renowned institution known as Hogwarts.

And certainly last, but not least, he was the holder of Peter Pettigrew’s enormous life debt.

None of those things on their own were enough to make him anything _ more _ than a man, but he was sure down to his very bones that he was destined for greatness; he was _ more, _ he was _ better, _ he was a walking God. Well, a walking God that was slowly losing his mind from anxiety and the cold, but a God nonetheless.

But Godhood or not, his current assemblage of plans were lying dashed about his feet with no recourse other than to soldier on with half as much time and twice as much experience. The plans and rituals he’d drawn up during his school-days were fifteen years behind him now, the dreams of ruling their little world and squashing the unrepentant and unworthy beneath his feet gone cold and dark since he’d received his graduation papers. In his mind the goals he’d set were more than adequate to set him atop their social ladder; the first stepping stones in a grander design that would have seen him King above all others. He was to have created an army of impossible to defeat Inferi, gather underneath his banner all the Dark Witches and Wizards of the world, and storm their broken Ministry before wiping the slate clean with a wave of guided chaos and destruction. 

Oh, and kill his old Headmaster Albus Dumbledore while he was at it.

But while those dreams had all once seemed so clear and easy, real life had a way of intervening and scattering it all to the wind. Instead of sitting atop a pile of bleached bones he was standing in a forest, instead of subjugating those beneath him to his will he was grading papers on the weekends, instead of building an army the size and strength of which hadn’t been seen since Grindelwald’s time he was helping Albus _ Fucking _ Dumbledore design a new Dueling Range. Merlin’s Bloody Beard, when had it all gone so wrong?! Half the time he wasn’t sure he was in his right universe it was all so _ mad. _

And the worst part? It was all his own bloody fault. 

Where he’d been expecting the old Goat to ignore and deny his request for the D.A.D.A position, he had instead accepted it immediately along with offering him the prestigious position as Head of House Slytherin; something he’d craved since old Slughorn had retired. Who could say no to that offer? Certainly he couldn’t do anything other than grit his teeth and accept; to back out of it would have made him look a fool or even worse, it could have tipped off the old man to his ultimate plans.

No, he’d accepted it right then and there, thrown off his ideals and dreams in favor of ensuring he wasn’t turned against, and for all that trouble he now found himself in a shitty forest in Albania, on a shitty outcropping of rocks beneath a cliff and a forest, with Peter Pettigrew somewhere at his side and dragons circling up above him.

As he stood there for the next hour of waiting his mind turned back towards thoughts of his youth and the first thoughts that had sparked his ambitions into proper infernos. A perusal of his ancestry hadn’t been done until his fourth year; all the ones before then he’d simply been aware of the creatures flying above him and the envy digging through his heart. It was an oft hushed rumor that the beasts were nigh immortal unless harmed by an outside force, talked about in barely heard whispers that they could coalesce themselves into a human form to intercede on Wizardkind’s affairs, that their blood could cure sickness and ailments like Fae magic of old.

He’d ended up envying them so much that it had given him recurrent heartburn that lasted well into his thirties and plagued him much the same today. But once he’d found out his family heritage? Where they drew their lines from and the storied histories of their past? Oh how badly his envy had turned towards _ want, _ towards _ need. _ His families true name was a legacy left in the past and here he was with nothing to show for it.

Ancient texts that he’d come across in the depths of the Chamber of Secrets had given all the indications and information he’d needed to determine that Salazar Slytherin was himself a dragon; an odd one for sure but a dragon nonetheless. The ancient man had used his skills and wiles of dragon-hood to build Hogwarts up from the ground, to pass off to humans and wizards alike knowledge that to this day fueled their deepest and strongest magics. Riddle _ knew _ that his life should have been leading him towards bigger and better things, he and his whole ancestry _ should _ have held numerous draconic traits or been dragons themselves outright. Instead it had all worn off; the prized blood they had been gifted diluted and bred away after Salazar and his immediate family died off. Each following line, eventually coalescing in only the Gaunts, had thrown themselves further into debauchery with incestuous relations that broke down their genes and eventually left them with only one trait of their forefather, the ability to speak with snakes. Not that it was a help at all, snakes themselves were lowly cousins to dragons and though they could hold a conversation when necessary, they were far more fitting as spies and lowly servants instead of comrades and co-conspirators.

Still he had persevered, for surely _ he _ of all people could turn their legacy around. Years and years of study had led him down a darkened path filled with danger and intrigue that nearly killed him at least once a year; all to find out _ one _ secret. It hadn’t been easy, but then again nothing worth it ever was, and though it only required one ingredient it had taken him many years to determine exactly _ what _ that one ingredient was.

A dragon egg; one from a five hundred year old dragon, the seventh in a clutch, and struck through by moonlight, whatever the Hells that meant. Pettigrew knew though, his only real reason for being here besides his status as easy bait should the beasts attack, and the Monks who’d lived high up on the tip of the world had divulged the spell he needed once he had his prize. Get the egg from between a nest, perform the ritual in absolute secrecy, and then sit back to relax and revel in his newfound status as a Man made Drake; a God among Mortals.

After that was accomplished the task of solving death by outside force could be overcome; soul magics dark and foul would come in handily there. Unfortunately that particular portion of his plan would only commence once he’d claimed his birthright, if he messed this up there was no option for a redo, no backup waiting to take over. As it was there was no absolute guarantee that making a true Horcrux would even work, nor was there anything to suggest that he would come out the process anything like he had gone in. Herpo the Mad wasn’t known by that name just for his proclivity to eat Horned Fish, or that time in his midlife crisis where he’d hunted all Periwinkle Frogs in the world into extinction. No, Herpo had disappeared into nothingness and never been seen again after he completed his ritual to develop a Horcrux, a mad dash of smoke and a few maniacal cackles had been the last anyone had ever seen or heard of him. Suffice to say that he had absolutely no intention of letting himself fall from grace in the manner of that ancient Dark Wizard.

Again he paced and rubbed his too chilled shoulders, eyes out of focus and mind cratering around the object of his desires. Soon enough Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail to those who knew his nocturnal proclivities, would let him know he’d grabbed the egg, sending up a-

_ There! _

Atop the land above him Riddle saw a showering of white luminescent stars and sparks begin to top the treeline, Pettigrew’s predetermined signal to announce that he’d grabbed the egg. _ ‘Finally,’ _ he thought to himself with a smile stretched eerily across his face, _ ‘My works can be completed, nothing and no one will be able stand in my- _

_ ‘Oh no,’ _ his face blanched white and slick, jaw hung open as the showering sparks of white suddenly deepened into the bright crescendo of red. The sparks remained where they’d first shot up for a few seconds more, straight up and unwavering, but soon enough the whole group began speeding towards him above the treeline. Closer and closer the sparks advanced, suddenly shooting straight at his little hiding spot with a speed and rapidity that shouldn’t have been possible for a single person to travel at, magic or no magic.

His last words, a rather tactless “Fuck,” were snatched up and eaten away between the mad Apparition of Peter’s gloriously flaming return and a gush of burning chemicals sprayed out of the mouth of a monumentally pissed off Albanian Woodhide, and the strange sort of half-magic pumping out from the egg held tightly between Peter’s melting fingers.

One minute he stood there as a man-

\---

-and in the next he was nothing more than a loose and wayward pile of ashes, blowing along with the breeze that rushed in off the rooftops guarding the thin side street in a village known as Hartnet. Sitting atop the largest remaining portion of the ashes was an enormous egg nearly the size of a rugby ball, the whole of it rocking gently side to side as the creature buried within it realized there was no Mother to warm the stones, no Father to guard the cave’s entrance. It was alone, somewhere cold and dark and dreary, thoroughly suffused with the scent and feel of _ Man. _ From deep within a wave of magic began to pulse and throb, radiating outwards from the center of the egg as it rocked, learning its surroundings and freezing at the frightening lack of Dragons.

For only one second more the egg was still an egg; mottled brown with flecks of gold and green spattered across its surface in patterns that whirled as they caught the light, and then it was-

\---

“Didy’a hear that John?” Emma Granger removed herself from John’s grip, pulling herself backwards until she could just barely see around the edge of the alleyway that they had secluded themselves within. 

John rolled his eyes as his wife pulled away, “No,” hands reaching out to pull Emma back into his embrace and mind focusing on everything else except whatever noise she thought she heard. He knew what _ he _ wanted to hear and it certainly wasn’t anything about strange noises in idyllic little hamlet’s off the beaten path. John Granger was three weeks tied and only five weeks into officially earning the right to be called a doctor, off on tour throughout as much of Scotland and England as his shoestring budget and University debt would allow. He was ready to explore, examine, relax and unwind; all the while on a mission to earn as much neck as he could before they settled into domesticity.

The woman now standing not one meter away was Emma Granger nee’ Bulston; a beautiful young woman that he’d met out at a stag night over three years prior, his PhD still a twinkle in his eye. He watched her shiver from a cold draft and the liquor swimming up beneath her bloodstream, short hair waved away from her ear and eyes as she poked her head out into the preternatural silence and darkness that seemed to blanket the town. The longer they stood in quietude the more she seemed to be perturbed by whatever she had heard, her body pulling steadily further away until she was standing directly on the sidewalk, John venturing out slowly behind her to lay a warm hand upon her shoulder.

When it became obvious she wasn’t going to give up on whatever it was that she had heard he stepped up around her and tilted his head into the wind in an effort to hear whatever his wife was on about. When the sound came, and it did, quietly and almost missed, it warbled upon the wind along with the rushing sound of air. “Come on Em’, it’s gotta be some kid making a ruckus. T’isn’t anythin’ more-”

“Goddammit John, it’s not just some kid!” She punched him in the shoulder and sent a withering look, “Why in the world would a fuckin’ child be cryin’ out here? At night?” She pointed off down the road, “I don’ see anyone else around here, what if they’re hurt? Come on, let’s go.”

With nothing to be done about it, as John knew exactly where going against his new wife’s wishes would lead, he followed out behind her along the sidewalk in search of whatever was making the noise.

It wasn’t a matter of even a hundred meters before they found what was making those noises, around a small bend in the road and between the two sides of the crowded street was a small and wailing infant. The baby was lying directly on the hard stonework of the ground with nothing else surrounding it, bronze skin pale and gray where ashes and soot covered it.

“What the fuck,” they both uttered in unison, their faces open in confusion as the child below them began crying anew.

\---

** _1980_ **

John Granger, PhD, Dentist, loving husband, and brand-new father, was at his wits end.

He loved the darling little child that he’d come to call his own girl, loved her so much that there wasn’t any conceivable thing in the entire world that he wouldn’t do to make sure she was as happy and healthy as a toddler could be, but there was something immensely _ off _ about his little bundle of joy. Not that he minded that, no, he loved her all the same, but still. It needed to be said.

The little girl that he doted on so much was never claimed after that night he and his new wife had found her, darkness all around them and ashes on the ground. The wailing child at their feet had calmed down immediately once Emma had her safely wrapped up into a bundle made from her scarf and jacket, tucked into her arms and softly cooing as she waved a finger that the child continued trying to grab. They’d ended up spending an extra month in that shitty little village; used up every cent of their funds that had been supposed to go towards the remainder of their trip up north and settled on finding a rather cheap little hotel room to ride out their stay. Soon enough after delivering her to the local medical center it became clear that the girl would eventually end up somewhere as a Ward of the Court, shipped out to a mill-run orphanage and given only a paltry chance at a stable home or life. Emma, being the kind and gracious soul that she was, just couldn’t stand to leave the girl behind, not in good conscience at least. That sentiment became one that he echoed as they spent hours and then days with her passing between the two of them, the nurses and doctors happy to get the abandoned tyke off their hands.

And so eventually, after much paperwork and little in the way of fanfare or celebration, they found themselves the right and proper parents to this lost little infant girl. Sure they had ended up with a child far sooner than they had imagined, and yes they didn’t have all that much in the bank after purchasing both a home and a secondhand practice, but their business ended up securing their livelihood and allowing them to take the child home. One Saturday they’d just been man and wife, alone besides themselves, and then by the time they arrived home they were parents, through and through.

They spent an agonizingly long period of time thinking up names for their new child before eventually settling upon Hermione; named as such after the daughter of Helen and a beauty in her own right, a child born from greatness and destined to it as well. Her skin was a beautifully deep bronze that wreaked havoc on the eyes the longer one stared, the color shifting from the warmth of metal to the softness of wood in an instant. Her hair was slowly growing in and promised to eventually be a beautiful sight, brilliantly burnt auburn that sparkled and rippled as light cascaded off it. Her eyes were an oddity; golden like honey beneath the sun, dappled and flecked throughout with specks of green that shimmered and glowed beneath twilight.

She was a wonder to deal with no matter day or night, beautiful and quiet as she joyfully played or grabbed at hair and hands, shimmying along on her stomach in the way young children do until they learn to crawl and pull themselves along. Soon enough they’d needed to keep an eye out underfoot at every step they took, careful and considerate so as to not cause her any harm.

There were, however, downsides to this whole parenting business. Not that they hadn’t expected some; Emma had practically cleaned out the local library on every text regarding child rearing and came home one day all in a tither over _ teething _ of all things, but they had practiced and prepared and for all that they were still overwhelmed in the end. Removing sharp objects? Everything was put away in cubbies or cupboards that Hermione couldn’t reach. Stopping her from falling down stairs or getting her head stuck between the bars of the railing? They bought netting and strung it up along with childproof barriers at every landing. It was all normal really, what they’d been led to expect and deal with were all easily managed problems that required no more effort than if Hermione had been a particularly rambunctious cat.

But there were… irregularities.

Well, less like what one would consider an irregularity and more like what someone would call a trope from some schlocky horror novel, all the odds and ends wrapping themselves up in cloth that made them doubt their sanity one day before proclaiming everything fine and dandy the next. Chief among these sudden outbursts of strangeness was the… _ transformation, _ that Hermione would sometimes undergo. It was a predictable affair, or at least it was once they’d noticed the pattern, their little child swaddled and cuddled up in Emma’s embrace with a little smile on her pudgy face and infant voice cooing and laughing in all the ways that young children could vocalize. The next moment, however, she was, well. 

The easy way to say it was just to say it and move on; _ she had wings. And a tail. And a forked tongue. And claws! _ ** _And sharp teeth!_ **

When the first transformation happened Emma had nearly thrown Hermione across the room in fright and shock, her scream sending the child back into her normal body in the span of a millisecond and pulled John running from the garage until he was breathlessly panting in the living room. 

_ “I swear,” Emma had said, her eyes wide and Hermione bouncing happily in her arms while she reached for short black hair, “John ya know I’m not lyin’ to ya, ya know I wouldn’ lie about something like this-” _

And then it had happened again.

John promptly fainted; he was never one for shocks and his poor heart simply couldn’t keep up with the sudden demand for imagination, leaving Emma to remain the strong one in the interim of his consciousness. With a sigh and a pout she set the creature that her daughter had turned into down upon the couch to inspect each oddity in turn, every single one odder than the last.

Teeth? All there, thirty two of them, each needle sharp and hooked like a puppy or a kitten.

Forked tongue? It was right there, twisting around and longer than would be considered normal for an adult, pink but darker along the edges, much closer to purple. A split ran down the center, each moving independently of the other, the whole length pushing in and out of her mouth like a snake tasting at the air.

Claws? Sharp and pointed at the tip, a deep black color instead of the clear they normally were, growing and poking out from the midpoint of her fingers like any other nail except that they were shaped like a common beast. They scratched and caught on fabric, tangling and leaving red marks upon Emma’s skin, the little child seemingly knowing her own strength and refraining from truly digging in.

Wings? … Yes? They were little things, two flaps like miniature arms poking out from her back near the center of her shoulder blades, each nascent and mostly immobile except for random flutters that stretched the webbing between each long finger like… _ thing, _ before closing up again.

Tail? Again, nascent and short but present nonetheless. The length of it was scaled in dapples of brown and green that shifted between the two colors depending on the light. The appendage waggled backwards and forwards, up and down, at a pace and frequency that seemed far more tied to Hermione’s emotions rather than any planned movement on her part.

Eventually John stirred, helped along by her nudging foot, rising from his impromptu sleep to poke and prod at Hermione with as much care and gentleness as he’d always had for their child. He watched her face as he ran a finger down her wings and tail, watching her face intently for any sign of distress or unease, his chest heaving a sigh of relief when there was nothing amiss. Hermione was happy, healthy, and far more importantly didn’t seem at all put off by suddenly looking half human and half reptile. Of course their next topic after his inspection was regarding whether they should inform someone, anyone, and even then who would it be? A pediatrician?

No.

“We can’t tell anyone Emma,” he’d pleaded after thinking through all their options, “No one else can know about this. We have no idea what they’d want to do to her, whether they’d take her away or what have you. _ No one can know.” _

Emma agreed wholeheartedly with his view on that, worried as she was for her daughter’s safety and more than a little bit concerned that if they went public with it she would disappear from her grasp with no way of ever getting her back. With that decision settled they waved off the occurrences as something to be feared and began to slowly fall into a blissful domesticity, odd though it was. Hermione continued to change as the days passed into months, and then on into years, the pace of them seeming to fluctuate the older that she grew, but other than that she seemed as healthy and normal as any other child, her oddness confined to the home and never once shown off while they were out and about, or in the company of strangers.

The next odd thing to plague their little family was just a bit harder for either of them to cover up, especially with all the broken bits of metal and wood that Hermione would leave laying about. Or rather, spitting out. They weren’t quite sure which term was proper, were the pieces really just laying about if Hermione was forcefully throwing them away after ripping them to shreds with her teeth?

Before they’d even brought Hermione into their home they had bought her a crib, something homey and made from white painted wood, lead free of course, and though it was a mite bit large for her they had been sure she would grow into it soon enough. With that in mind they had budgeted themselves for another crib in a year or two, and then promptly went about their day. Four weeks after Emma had first set eyes on Hermione’s rather odd reptilian form, they found said crib a broken mass of chewed up wood and splinters, scattered across the floor while Hermione pulled bits and pieces from her mouth. She’d even been making giggling noises of happiness while doing so, a counterpoint to the immediate faint that John had slipped into.

“How,” Emma had asked, helping John up off the floor.

“Don’t know,” John had replied, shifting forward to pick Hermione up off the pile of debris as he helped her to remove the last pieces of splinters from her sharpened teeth.

\---

“It’s… It’s not wrong of us to keep a child in a cage, right?” John looked down at little Hermione as she sat in her new ‘crib’, a converted metal cage that would have been better off employed in housing animals in a zoo.

“I mean…,” Emma had stared, first at Hermione asleep on her covers and then at her husband as he nervously rocked back and forth.

“Yeah…”

“... Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Bellamione? https://discord.gg/pcfMU4F come on in and join the server!


	2. Unwarranted Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure there are errors, but I couldn't wait to get this up and writing late at night has my eyes all grainy so; here. Second chapter

** _1988_ **

The world surrounding the odd little family inside Thirteen Fulmar Lane continued turning and rolling along, from Hermione’s first bout of oddness and on throughout the years until one day the slowing pace of her changes just seemed to… stop. When John looked back on it he determined that the switching point was somewhere right before Hermione’s fourth birthday; the young child had changed once during the morning and then begun streaking across the floors of their home with nothing on besides a loose t-shirt that he had cut the back out of to allow for her little wings and tail to flap and flutter as she moved. Her shrill voice of laughter followed him around the house as he finished chores or read the news, a smile on her face and happiness in the air.

Her tail and wings had continued to develop and grow along with the rest of her until instead of being small and nearly useless they were something close to approximate for her toddler sized body. The thin membranous webbing that stretched between her ‘fingers’ was now thick and sturdy, the length of scaled bone and muscle opening to flap and push the air around her like some parody of a bat in flight. She was adorable, his little devil Hermione, but even he sighed a breath of relief when one moment she was turning a corner with her little tail wagging back and forth and the next staring at a bug, her body back to normal and a frown coloring her face as the tiny insect fled from her towering form.

Hermione also quit eating away at whatever she was placed into at night, her last bout of magnified teething happening just after her birthday, ten or twelve cages now buried somewhere beneath the silt of a nearby river all alone forevermore. The night before she had been chewing on the metal bars with teeth that seemed impossible to harm, and the next she was sleeping soundly, no odd sounds of crunching metal or tearing plastic coming from her room. 

John had thought that would be the end of it, the strangeness in her blood thinned away and a normal child from here on out.

Well, the thought at least gave him a good case of sleeping well for three whole uninterrupted nights, each more pleasant than the last until Hermione found her newest oddity.

\---

Fire, and a hell of a lot of it if he judged by the smoke rising up from behind the bushes.

From between the slithering smoke and haze he could just barely hear the sounds of Hermione laughing while his brain focused on _‘Fire bad, not good, _**_not good!’_** With his heart beating its way out of his chest he ran back and forth in search of the small and portable fire extinguisher that they had at one time kept beneath their kitchen sink; the space now empty besides plastic blags and cleaning supplies that had cluttered in the space since he’d last burnt up their dinner, his mind now focused on _‘Where is it, where the fuck is it-’_

Emma Granger was as used to Hermione’s odd antics as her witless, but ultimately loving, husband; taking the initiative to run forward through the brush and brambles to grab at Hermione before she could be burned or hurt. What she saw though, and what set her eyes into a size that burned and stung as smoke and haze pressed in against them, was exactly _ why _ there was fire. Her daughter, loving Hermione, strange changeling Hermione, her precious daughter Hermione, sitting on the ground with nothing besides the singed remains of an old t-shirt and cut off sweatpants swaddling her knees. She had no lighter, no fluid, no matches, not even paper with which to fan the flames. But what she did have was her hands, two copper hands cupped up before her lips and a smile on her face as she caught sight of Emma’s form.

“Mommy,” Hermione looked up once before returning her gaze to her hands, “Look!” 

Her words were excited things, brimming with wonderment, and Emma’s eyes followed her daughter’s movements as Hermione’s face was taken over by stubbornness and concentration. She inhaled deeply, her tiny chest puffing out as she did so, before blowing into her cupped palms and blowing out her cheeks. And then there it was.

Fire.

A flame.

Small and yellow, the puff was no larger than the heat thrown off by a lighter, the tip bursting forth past her lips to lick and tickle against the inside of her palms. The yellow and orange of the light began to roll and coalesce into a mildly spherical orb that flickered and rose up until within Hermione’s grasp she held fire itself; no fuel source, no ignition point, just fire that floated and grew before sputtering heavily and going out. Hermione tilted her head and let out a rumble of disagreement, her tiny features screwed up in displeasure that had Emma stumbling and then falling into a seat beside her.

“Ha,” Emma half laughed and half choked out, “Oh lord.”

\---

** _1990_ **

If there was anything in the world that Hermione hated above all else it was school and all associated trappings, expectations, and rites thereof. The actual list of things that she truly hated was surprisingly short for a twelve year old; there simply wasn’t very much for her to be upset about or angered over at such a young age and with such a loving family that looked to protect and nurture her at every moment that they could, well, it was made all the harder. Nor was it easy for her to be upset at the world around her as she seemed to have an almost preternatural grasp on new concepts and ideas that made learning something novel a lovely way to pass the time.

But she _ did _ hate some things.

Vegetables first and foremost, and following that she abhorred cold mornings when she awoke with her blankets on the floor and frost nipping at her window, crawling up her fingers and toes. She hated spiders with an almost detached sense derision; the instinctual urge that they were _ wrong _ overriding everything she knew about them, even the help they provided to the environment. Next were doctors that asked her weird questions (mostly pertaining to her psoriasis but sometimes to how she seemed so fit for a young child, almost as if they were looking for an excuse to blame her parents), next were nurses that tried to placate her with lollies instead of information, as if she couldn’t understand what she wanted answers to.

It just so happened that school was able to win out as the Most Hated thing for her at this current point in her life.

On the other hand there were many, many things that she loved with reckless abandon. Her parents first and foremost, she loved them and in turn they loved her beyond any ability to measure or quantify it, their love and adoration suffusing their every action even though she wasn’t their trueborn daughter (something that novels and children's stories written by old annoying men had taught her to be very thankful for). She loved warm mornings when the house was heated from end to end, moments where she could park herself in front of a roaring fire that crackled in the hearth as her father sat down to read aloud beside her, sometimes even pulling her up and into his favorite seat while he mock groaned and fled as if she took up all the space.

She even loved the moments when he would turn serious and brooding as he asked her questions on what he’d read, quizzing her on what the passage meant or what the author was trying to convey. Sometimes, when she answered especially well or off kilter in a way that made him laugh, he would tell her of anecdotes in his own life; funny stories from his past that fit whatever he had been reading, further reinforcing the lesson she was to learn but also informing her of his own past, something she cherished deeply. 

She even loved the odd little tips that her ears were capped with; little ridges poking upwards as if she were an elf (a favorite nickname that her mother had bestowed her with).

One of the few things that she ranked nearly as high as her own parents was fire; flame and heat come to writhing life. The warmth and glow of it as she cradled it between her palms or fanned her fingers through its touch was intoxicatingly beautiful to watch, the little orange and red streaks running along the curving tips of her fingers and skin to bring a warm flush to her skin in a way that nothing else could. Her parents disagreed with her there, her mother most of all, and they had forbidden her from practicing or using her special skill unless one of them was there to observe and keep her safe. Sure following their directions cut down on her ability to practice it but they hadn’t forbidden it outright and for that she loved them all the more.

Her last love was mixed into everything else; learning everything she could, but unfortunately that interest and desire was tempered by the hatred of school, of institutions and boundaries imposed by nigh impossible to deal with rules. She knew that schooling was a worthwhile endeavor and that the process of learning and being taught by someone outside of her family, usually someone with far more knowledge and experience in the relevant subjects that were being taught, but some days that fact simply wasn’t enough to staunch the dark clouds that would cover and blanket her thoughts. Her mother mostly told her to deal with it, it was necessary and learning to live with it would help her later in life, her father was a little more circumspect and shared his own thoughts on the matter (frequently running himself into a rant about someone named Professor Vega and the circles she’d run around him as she taught), at least until her mother chased him away when he started using colorful language.

Unfortunately the other children had learned to band together and ostracize her by the time she’d started Year Two, and it seemed they’d decided as one to continue to do so as they all grew older. She was never sure what it was that had initially set them all off; she’d approached everyone new with fairness and politeness, just the way her mother had taught her, nothing mean and nothing silly to make them color their opinions of her. But something about her was just… _ off, _ to the other children, something unknown to her and blindingly annoying. Before they even got the chance to ask her about herself (she’d rehearsed her entire speil the night before, practicing in front of her mirror and trying to look as cheerful as she could), they would widen their eyes and tremble their lips as if they sensed a great danger hiding in their midst. The few who didn’t scuttle away in fear instead decided to ignore her, eventually learning to hate her instead.

Her ability to enunciate, read, and understand concepts beyond her age only seemed to intimidate them further, as if they were inadequate and it was all her fault. They labeled her a _ brain, _ or a _ smarty-pants, _ chanting and pushing her between them as she cowered and held her tongue. She had just wanted friends and yet all they had seemed to want was someone to pick on and a reason easy enough to label her _ different _ from themselves.

Well bugger them, and all their stupid and ridiculous ideas.

In the end, Hermione found the easiest way to make the most of her time was to fill nearly every waking moment with learning and knew knowledge; absorbing books and learning from shows that her parents curated for her, inhaling everything and anything that she could get her hands on. The action of retreating inwards never once seemed odd to her, and instead she leaned into it as a way to ensure that her parents knew that she was happy enough as is. She knew, mostly by osmosis and exposure to others of her own age, that many young children had little if any of the advantages or support that she did, she knew many weren’t lucky enough to be able to retreat into their psyche and fill it up with growth of mind instead of body or soul.

Unfortunately for Hermione it seemed that today had been destined to be a day she’d hate, deep inside her home with rain outside and absolutely no new books to read or pursue as an itch crawled up through the rough patch of skin that sat in the center of her chest. The itch was deep and near painful, one of the few feelings that she refused to let her parents in on, something that had her wishing and hoping for somewhere dark and soothing, somewhere she could curl up and nest like one of those pretty lizards she’d watched on a nature documentary the week prior. Her skin was rushing itself into a plateau of goosebumps painted in bronze and copper, the whole of her body too tight and yet too large, almost as if she’d pulled on a badly fitted garment that stretched around her chest while still being so long as to trip up her feet. 

Her parents might not have known the exact depth of her feelings on days like these but they understood the mood could come or go at an instant, horrid one moment and fine the next. Whenever it became clear enough to them that a mood wouldn’t just end on its own they would sit down with her and suggest things to try that might help the betterment of her temper, setting her up with warm blankets that swaddled her small form as they shared interests and memories that she hadn’t heard. It didn’t always help but putting on a smile after they had moved to help her always seemed to alleviate their worried stares, something that made her feel happy in turn.

She hated this feeling, this oddness of being confined and shoved down into her body as her bones burned and her head was filled through with aches and pains that throbbed along with her heartbeat in a way that couldn’t be fixed by a million books or sneakily obtained cookies. She was filled with an absolute need this time, so much more stronger than before, tired and stretched with the desire to find somewhere more fitting no matter whether that place be a skin or a shelter. The need, the feeling, built up all throughout her body and tore at the fraying layers of her mind until finally _ something _ snapped back, a violently releasing tension like the breaking of a rubber band.

The fireplace at her side had been cold and left unattended for days now that the weather had turned from normal British cold and off towards something warm, but with a whoosh of fire and flame that sent heat blasting up against the dry logs stacked within while the air around it exploded outwards in a shower of embers and flame. Month old ash scattered about the parlor room, crackling and shadows splitting all around her. The arm she had wrapped around her torso seemed to suddenly flicker and fade where they skin lay out exposed, the natural tan that she’d been born with suddenly shifting from smooth and soft into a shade of green and brown encased in patchwork scales that shimmered and glittered beneath the firelight.

And then-

Gone.

The mottled colors and scale all disappeared in a rush that left her no closer to an explanation, taking with it the aching feeling that had pulled at her body. It was banished, all of it, the mood and itch disappearing into some background portion of her mind along with the fire in the hearth and the heat that had sprung into the room. She raised her arm up to stare at the now normal skin while her free hand rubbed at the soft and downy hair that covered it, her mind a whirling maelstrom of confusion and half-thoughts pulling apart.

“What-” 

The voice startled Hermione from her inspection, her father standing in the doorway with the door halfway open and his head of sandy hair cocked off to one side as he stood there in evident confusion. When he declined to continue speaking or elaborate any further Hermione shrugged her shoulders in much the same way that she’d seen her mother do; unworried about what had happened but wondering regardless. Her father’s eventual reply, if it could accurately be called that, was to simply let his mouth hang open in shock, one eyebrow raised right along with it.

\---

** _1991_ **

Emma Granger, Dentist and firm believer in true science above all else, was unabashedly confused. Or maybe it was rather that she was in denial, unwilling to entertain the idea of anything that would alter her worldview in any extent. The conversation that her husband was currently involved in, lively involved in judging by his childlike look of wonder, with the rather colorfully and oddly dressed Professor certainly did seem to explain quite a lot about their life with little Hermione. It definitely made more sense than John’s crackpot theory that Hermione was actually an escaped alien that had dropped out from a spaceship rocketing away from earth after a run in with Americans, and it was also easier to parse than her own theory that Hermione was an adorably cuddly demon. No; this woman and her explanations made far more sense than either of those ideas and she would certainly take her time in lording over him the fact that at least her idea had been closer to the mark. Only once the Professor left though, it wasn’t polite to gloat among new company.

When the Professor had first arrived it had been a split-second decision that had saved Emma from shutting the door in the womans face just based on pure instinct; she was used to odd strangers attempting to solicit money or time for causes so far out of left field that it had become somewhat of a game to John and herself to see who could close the door the fastest. But something had staid her hand, something in the woman's eyes or her demeanor, and now that she was sitting her, explaining as best she could, Emma was glad she’d held her movement. It certainly helped that the Professor knew things, knew words and actions that had her heart racing up from a slow and winding pace into a sprint that brought darkness to the edges of her vision. And all that had happened at the drop of a hat.

Well, a pointed hat, but a hat nonetheless.

The Professor introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall; the Head of House Gryffindor at the prestigious boarding school known the world over as the number one _ Wizarding _ school in all the world, a school that until that very moment Emma had never heard of or known to have existed. She had a hard time even believing it after Minerva said it; it had taken a pamphlet pulled out of thin air before she was even slightly inclined to believe her, and more still until she was _ sure _ the woman was telling the truth. It helped that Minerva’s next move was to summon up a rather impressive looking armchair from nothing more than a thimble and the twirl of a stick, an act made all the more real because it wasn’t a chair she’d ever seen before in her life. It wasn’t from the living room, the parlor or the study, no; this woman had simply made it wholly from a small thimble that had gleamed silver one second before turning red and gold and massive.

_ A thimble! _

And now she was seated here across from her husband as he dove into a lively debate about how Dentistry had been effectively eliminated from the secret world that Minerva came from, the presence of magic and potions eating away at the industry until there’d been no need for it at all. Oh yes, she’d certainly be having words with John this evening, but if the look on his face and interest in his eyes was anything to go by, she’d be getting a lecture on how much simpler their lives would be if _ magic _ could be integrated into their practice. But, well, that was John, she supposed. Always off in his own little world and looking for the next best thing no matter how harebrained or odd it may be.

And yes, after all that show and strangeness she had to confess that it was all rather convincing. Her options in rationalizing all this were cut down into suspecting that either she had been dosed at some point this morning, unlikely since John couldn’t cook to save his life and she had ended up taking that role to save their tongues, or it was all real. And Minerva was certainly doing a much better job at convincing her that magic was real than David Copperfield had ever done. And surely it fit the lovely oddity that was her child, an explanation that offered answers for the changes she’d gone through as a child as well as the fire that she was able to conjure on a whim. Hell, it even would explain Hermione’s odd temperament that made her seem so much older and wiser than children her own age.

“Well,” Minerva had asked with a smile plastered across her face amid a demeanor that clearly said she was here to explain away all their oddities and questions, “Has Hermione ever exhibited anything that you would call, well, unusual? Any changes around the home? Oddities that your science,” she smiled warmly at John, “Can’t, or won’t explain?”

Emma and John had both turned their heads as one until they were locked up eye to eye, unspoken words passing between them with a frightening rapidity that was in and of itself a kind of magic. They nodded slightly once they knew they were on the same page; memories of Hermione running around with patches of green and brown scales, her miniature wings flapping behind her back and forked tongue lolling out of her mouth as she breathlessly ran circles around them. Yes, they had indeed experienced more than a few _ ‘oddities.’ _

Hermione was twisting in place where she sat upon the floor in front of the couch, her hands wringing together as she listened to the Professor explain the concept of witches and wizards, her lips trembling as she fought herself on whether to bring something up or leave it unvoiced. Eventually she looked back at her mother and with a slight nod that said she knew everything she held inside, she sighed and began to speak.

“Professor,” Hermione shifted beneath the gaze of the older woman as she looked down at her across her nose, a smile on her lips and posture open and inviting, “I- I can make… Well, I can make fire.”

McGonagall’s face quickly faded away into something that approximated surprise and concern, “Accidental fire is an unfortunate occurrence that more than a few parents and children have gone through. Usually it occurs when children’s emotions are running high, have your-”

“Um,” Hermione interjected before the Professor could go on a tangent, aware that she seemed to misunderstand her statement, “Professor, I mean that I can make it whenever I want to. My emotions don’t really… Well, can I show you?”

“Oh,” McGonagall stalled and sighed slightly, “Let’s see then.”

Hermione’s face immediately turned into a smile brighter than the sun; her eyes radiating joy at being able to show off her unique, but not so scary anymore, talent. With evident care towards her movements she kept her body positioned just so that the Professor could see into the palms of her hands as she brought them upwards into a cup before her lips. Her face screwed up in concentration as she whispered lowly to herself and prepared her own magic. When she was ready she blew outwards into the palm of her hand as embers left her lips, catching the flame that shot outwards and into her grasp as she held it and helped it to grow into a proper ball of fire that floated just a few centimeters above her skin while the edges and top tickled at her fingers.

McGonagall leaned back in evident amazement, “Merlin, I haven’t seen a child perform that kind of magic since… since…,” she screwed up her face in concentration, eyes unfocused and lips trembling slightly. “Well I don’t think I’ve ever once seen a child conjure flames up on their own. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, are you _ sure _ that Hermione is only eleven?”

Emma preened beneath the attention that her daughter was receiving, pride swelling up beneath her chest as well as her husbands’ as the Minerva complimented Hermione on her outstanding use of magic, her darling daughter’s face lighting up in pride and accomplishment as she did so.

That ended up settling it within Emma’s mind; she had always wanted to help Hermione to grow into the best person that she could be, and though those thoughts had always included her one day following along in their footsteps, well, she could change her outlook. If her little darling was a witch, then she’d be the best damned witch of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next; Hermione shopping in Diagon for the first time, Bellatrix taking a bratty nephew out for a walk, and a curious piece of cloth knows something about Hermione that she doesn't.


	3. Essentials and Extravagances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited, but I'm sure I've missed a few things. I'll correct em' when I'm able.

** _1991_ **

Hermione Granger was absolutely beside herself with an intense wonder that blended off into amazement as she stared around herself at the pure insanity that made up Diagon Alley. Surrounding her on all sides and lingering everywhere she looked were oddities and differences that defied all attempts to use logic or reason to square it all away. On one side were floating furniture, couches and tables and odds and ends just hovering above the ground along with wooden trunks and traveling bags that seemed to lift in excitement as a potential customer walked by. Against another were the long wooden signs on top of some shops that seemed to shimmer and change depending on how you viewed them, their messages fading to be replaced with new words for new shoppers. 

One entire alleyway was entirely devoted to items for potioneering; pots and special tinctures, a menagerie of kettles and small glass phials with tops that stoppered themselves, shelves and rows filled with unusual ingredients that ranged from the mundane, dandelion root, to the fantastic, Basilisk Blood. Balloons twisted up into impossible shapes stood sentinel above a small cart with an elderly woman standing out front, the plastic moving and running through the air as if they were alive and trying to reach out to young children that wandered by. All around her walked people dressed as if the Twentieth Century had never happened; cloaks and robes, fantastical dresses and skirts that hearkened back to an England that no longer existed. In their hands or on their hips they wore long sticks that she now knew were wands, some even practicing or unleashing spells as she wandered by, sparks and colors the likes of which she had never seen or ever imagined flinging from the tips. There was even a  _ Centaur,  _ a creature she had been sure was only something to read about in ancient myths and legends, trotting by her and dipping his head as he passed through to another alleyway.

It. Was. Amazing.

Even her parents seemed to be as astonished as she was, gaping and gawking as they were shepherded along with four other parents by a constantly bemused McGonagall who answered their every question with polite faced seriousness. The Professor had been delegated the task of taking their little group on their first tour of Diagon Alley, and to fill them up with much-needed school supplies for the coming year. The last item on their list was to set up an account with the Goblin owned Gringotts (at hearing  _ that _ little tidbit of information, Hermione had promptly felt her brain melt when she realized, and had reiterated by McGonagall, that  _ yes, _ Goblins existed, and  _ no, _ thy weren’t anything at all like she had read in storybooks or legends).

The three other children who accompanied their merry little band were just as much astonished as Hermione was, if not quite a deal more so, each wide-eyed and slack jawed in the face of such a breathtakingly amazing world. They had all met up at her home that morning, bright and early right at the strike of seven to await the hour that the Professor was scheduled to arrive and whisk them off. The parents had all been for this little get together, each happy to have their children getting to know one another before the official start of the school year, and Hermione had spared no time in trying to make friends; her  _ first _ friends. 

To that end she had found herself secluded in the study with the other children wandering up after her, spinning up her energy and excitedness into her skills with fire; well, she had  _ attempted _ to do so. Unfortunately her mother caught wind of what she was up to and promptly moved to shut it all down without hearing a single word edgewise from Hermione. She was given a stern warning (when the other children had left the room of course, Emma wasn’t quite so upset as to embarrass her daughter in front of potential friends), and instructions to not practice her particular brand of magic unless all the parents were in attendance as well to ensure that nothing went wrong or awry. It was a regrettable outcome, she had so dearly wanted to impress them all, but those fleeting few seconds before her mother had found her were worth it.

Soon enough the day had passed on and the group of children slowly adopted her into their makeshift little circle of friends, never once making a fuss or questioning her smarts while Hermione practically glowed with happiness and delight. Sure, she had never once been one for  _ looking _ for friends after her first few incidents in primary school, but here? In a world where her oddities were seen as natural or normal, something to be celebrated and encouraged just as much as the effort she put into learning?

She loved it, every single second.

\---

The first shop that their little group wandered into was small on the outside, maybe only two or three arm lengths across, but ran  _ deep _ into the space behind itself; disappearing into a mishmash of aisles and shelves that ruined Hermione’s chance of being able to even see the back of the store. The sign outside said it sold protective gear and clothing, things like boots and shoes or coverings for both, made from fabrics like Selkie Cloth, Pixie Wing, woven covers and sealers made from Dragonhide. As soon as Hermione laid eyes on a large boot pebbled in what she had first assumed was alligator skin, she felt her skin begin to buzz. The little placard next to it labeled the item as a Dragonhide boot made from skin that was humanely harvested from a preserve somewhere in Romania, an odd little addendum that had her skin prickling with goosebumps and chills running down her spine for a reason she couldn’t quite discern. 

_ ‘How can anything  _ ** _harvested_ ** _ be  _ ** _humane_ ** _ ?’ _

Their list proscribed that they needed gloves and boots; each dragonhide if possible, another variety with similar protection if not. With the goosebumps still echoing across her arms, Hermione opted instead for items made from Manticore that offered all the same protections but at a slightly higher cost. Her parents asked her why she wanted  _ this _ over  _ that, _ leaving her to shrug and claim it simply didn’t seem right to take something that had once been part of a Dragon. They nodded, looking between themselves in somewhat of a befuddled manner, before simply agreeing with her and pulling out the shopkeepers' payment.

\---

From there they passed through shops tucked up into corners and against the edges of alleys that claimed to sell familiars and another labeled ‘Quidditch Supplies’, (whatever  _ that  _ meant), and finally passing through to their next true destination.

An aging sign above the door proclaimed that the establishment had been crafting and supplying wands for centuries all down through their family line, a history and lineage so old that Hermione’s mind was sent whirling as she pondered on how much information she would have to catch up on. It wasn’t every day that you learned there was a multi-millennia of history hidden away from you, and she very,  _ very _ much wanted to know all that she had missed. 

The door to the shop opened with a creak when she went to press upon it, dust and the tingle of a bell signaling her arrival into a small room lined on both sides with boxes and shelves filled straight to the brim with long rectangular display boxes kitted out to present thin sticks (wands, as she’d learned), amid plush velvet, soft fabric, and thin tissue paper. No one stood behind the countertop; an oiled and dark thing with knots interspersed throughout its grain, no one around to ask for help or explanation for  _ why _ there were so many different wands.  _ ‘Surely,’ _ she thought to herself as McGonagall rang twice on a brass service bell,  _ ‘This supply exceeds demand?’ _

“Ah, customers, customers,” an old and withered voice croaked out behind a thin sheeting of brown cloth that curtained off the backrooms, “Just a minute, just a minute.”

Hermione waited patiently near the countertop as her parents busied themselves with talking among the others remaining near the door, the whole group looking skittish, as if something would explode and they’d need flee at a moments notice. The other children at her side were poking noses into the cubby holes and shelves as they stared down at the merchandise, dutifully keeping their hands off as a small brass sign requested. Hermione could _ feel _ something similar to the thrill that would build between her bones whenever she would play with her inner fire, something that felt alive and enormous as it pressed in on her as much as she pressed back out.

“Ow,” Hermione startled and raised a hand to the patch of dry skin that normally lay quiet and complacent as it covered the upper portion of her chest, a stretch of brown and mottled off-white that suddenly began to heat and burn for just a single instant. The sensation lasted for nearly a second before it washed away in swiftness to leave her body cool and calm once more, questions dipping into her mind as she rubbed the now phantom pain. Her parents didn’t seem to notice anything odd at all, engrossed as they were with the other parents in the room, and by the looks of it McGonagall had missed her movements altogether as she peered into the cloth separating the two halves of the shop. One of the small boys with their group had noticed her however, his eyes sharp as he looked and tried to see if something was off. Luckily he seemed easily placated when she waved it off and returned to normalcy, and thankfully he remained polite enough to not point it out or bring any attention to her. Unluckily, he seemed to want to talk to her about  _ something, _ as he motioned very slightly with an inclination of his head that said,  _ ‘Come over here, please,’ _ in a way that had Hermione very slowly moving to wander where he stood against the far wall. 

Hermione stalled out with one foot in front of the other on her way-

“Ah, now, now, I do apologize for keeping you all waiting,” an old and aged man pulled Hermione from her movements as he stepped out from behind the cloth, “New customers, new customers. And,” he inclined his head towards their group at an angle that just seemed  _ off, _ “Ms. McGonagall, hello, hello,” he gave her a grin stretched out to reveal an expanse of missing teeth before bowing slightly and spreading out his arms as if to show off the breadth of his shop, slowly regaining his posture before leaning over the countertop with all his weight. Atop his head was a short mop of curly and wispy hair, all white and frazzled and cut out at odd lengths until he looked like a mad scientist, a twin pair of blue glass staring at each of them through the film of some form of cataract. When his eyes passed atop Hermione’s form she felt herself pulled beneath some form of intense scrutiny, almost as if bugs were crawling over every inch of her skin to inspect and tiptoe across her flesh.

“Now, now, I do believe that you’re all here to get your wands; your  _ first _ wand. And yes, yes, let that be your first true lesson in the intricacies of wandlore; most witches and wizards will own at least two, sometimes more, throughout their lives. And, and this is despite my oft issued comment that yes, one wand is more suited or more loyal above others. They will own one, just one, when they are young and just beginning their education, and at a later date they will sometimes pick up a second. Sometimes this is because the first was damaged or lost, sometimes it’s a backup in case of true emergencies, something that they’ll stick underneath a cabinet or in their boot for any occasion where  _ ‘should the need arise’ _ is best said before and certainly not after. Others,” his looks hardened and his thin smile broke down into a straight line of hard puffed flesh, “Others, well, they’ll use a second wand for far more nefarious purposes. But then again that’s best left to you to learn in class, and not in my shop.”

The Professor’s head cocked off to the side as she sent him a hard edged look that brokered no nonsense or tomfoolery, “Mr. Ollivander, we have many shops on our list to visit today, of which yours is only one-”

“Yes, yes, I get it.  _ Get a move on old man, hurry up, hurry up,  _ I’m quite used to it all by now Minerva. Well then, alright. Who’ll it be? Who’s first? Hmm, how about you, young man?” His milky eyes peered down and through the small boy beside Hermione’s left shoulder, the child shifting uncomfortably beneath his blank gaze, “Or how about you, young lady?” He peered down into Hermione’s eyes now, and she was sure,  _ sure _ down to her bones, that he could see her clearer than even she could. “Yes, yes, It’ll be you first I believe. Now then, what’s your name dearie?”

“Um,” Hermione nearly faltered, “My name is Hermione Granger, Mr. Ollivander.” Hermione’s tone was flat and solid, suddenly perturbed by both his demeanor and something else that felt cloying and heavy against her mind and body.

“Hmm, Hermione Granger Mr. Ollivander, what an unusual name,” he chuckled lowly beneath his breath, “Good, good. Now; shall we get on with it?”

\---

Some wands, Hermione learned in quite a short order, absolutely  _ hated _ being paired with anyone who wasn’t truly meant for them.

That particular lesson came to her after fourteen different, and each more desperate than the last, attempts to get her to bond with a short bit of wood. Ollivander kept on with his muttering as he worked, proclaiming each and every as his best stock, the top of the line for a bright-eyed student who loved to learn and explore as much as she did. Not that  _ she _ knew how  _ he _ knew that she was adventurous when it came to learning; his ramblings seemed both half on the mark and half insane more often than not, his tone bashing into her in a way that left her clutching at her chest when the last in the line ended up nearly exploding beneath her finger light touch.

Fortunately enough the next one after  _ that  _ did the trick.

“This, this is cored by Dragon Heartstring; I plucked it myself from the still warm body not even two summers ago,” Ollivander gently removed a long black stick from a casing of pink tissue paper, his movements slow and careful as he presented it to her, “She was a fighter down to the last, or so the hunter who took her down told me. She was half mad with age and blood; managed to take down an entire village filled with Frunplink’s before he was able to draw her off and clip her wings,” Hermione shuddered as he imparted that un-wholesome information, “The casing is walnut that I harvested from a grove not too far from Stonehenge; pulled it myself from a still living shoot and blessed it the first chance I had by a trio of Vangarian mages. If you’re lucky you’ll never have to deal with them, they put an old doddering fool like me to shame, and if-”

Hermione finally tired of his speech enough to reach over and pluck the wooden stick from right between his fingers, her grip settling down upon the carved handle even as he continued trying to speak. She could tell, with no real reason  _ why _ or  _ how, _ that this wand was different to all the rest she’d held, this one was  _ right. _ The skin of her fingers reacted first, every place where she held the wood beginning to heat and burn as a creeping sense of weight and warmth traveled up her hand and wrist to string itself along her arm until it finally reached her heart. When it did, and oh boy did it ever, the feeling nearly exploded out from beneath her skin.

Heat; all around her.

Warmth; suffusing every bit of skin as it leaked into her mind.

_ Love; _ burning and writhing like it was the single-most powerful thing in the entire world.

It hurt, that feeling of how  _ right _ it was, like something that she had been missing for all her life and only now had come home to roost upon her heart. She felt her father’s protection, his strength in keeping her safe and happy even as she grew into her own self. She felt her mother’s affection and direction, her ability to suss out issues and drill down to the heart of things that mattered and engaged her. She felt another; something foreign yet so very familiar, something larger than herself-

“Well then, well then,” Ollivander spoke up and smiled crookedly at her when she was torn from her inner musings, “That’ll be that.”

\---

After each young member of their little group had a wand in hand, they left Odd Ollivander and his little shop behind them as they headed off in the direction of a large white building that stood out in the distance. The next items on their item list were all clothing related; black cloaks and robes, pointed hats and shoes, all typical school uniform affair that Hermione was relatively used to, even if the actual design of the attire was odd. 

The shop they entered into was fairly small from the outside and Hermione, embroiled as she was in a discussion with another boy in their group, missed the name out front, noticing only that the direct interior and window settings looked like fairly normal department store fare that she had seen countless times while shopping with her parents. Upon entering, however, she noticed just how different it was. Instead of jumpers or rows of trainers, there were instead long floating hooks that held black cloaks just above the floor, instead of a section for under-things, there were hats spinning off in space with nothing beneath them but air, all different styles and designs but still matching the definition laid out in their school letters. In another corner there were squeaky clean dress shoes and boots that kicked at one another as if settling a dispute, their whole length filled down with more pairs than Hermione had ever seen in one place.

“Rosalin?” McGonagall strode forward between the aisles, “Rosalin its Minerva here, with the Muggleborn families.”

A thunking sound met their ears as a woman nearly four heads taller than Hermione’s father came running from behind a stack of cleanly folded dress shirts; pins stuck at odd angles from her mouth and thimbles covering her fingers. 

“Mmhph!” She raised a hand and gave them an ‘okay’ sign before disappearing back behind the clothes again, their little group striding in further as they all looked out around themselves at the myriad of items on the shelves.

_ ‘Selkie fur lined cloaks,’  _ Hermione fingered the dense and brown interior of a cloak, her mind wondering how, and why, someone would choose to make clothing out of seals.  _ ‘Or I suppose they’re not  _ ** _just_ ** _ seals…’ _

That was something odd that had her on edge; the willingness for this society she barely knew to make use of something that seemed so wondrous to her. Life, in any shape or form (with exception to spiders) was something that she thought should be cherished, left alone, not stolen to make garments. But, well, she knew she didn’t have a full idea of this new society, and making rash decisions that could get her on the wrong side of someone by mistake certainly wasn’t in her list of accomplishments for this first year.

No; riling up the masses would be better left for her third or fourth, when they couldn’t kick her out so easily.

She wandered out of touch from the others in her group while Rosalin still remained unseen; her fingers ghosting over soft furs and expertly woven linen, her nose drinking in the smells of the quaint little shop. There was something though, something small and at the periphery of her sense, sharp and tangy but still smelling slightly of  _ home. _ She wandered deeper in, the layout of the shop much larger on the inside than shown outside, her parents and their group slowly fading into the background.

_ Exotics, _ a sign read, hanging from the ceiling and holding on either side a depiction of a skull and crossbones.

_ ‘What’s more exotic than  _ ** _selkie_ ** _ fur?’ _

At some point it became less of a realized impulse and more like something instinctual that had her feet herding her forward and eyes spinning around at the shawls and rigid leather gloves that sat upon the shelves. There was one entire section devoted to facemasks with holes punched through them,  _ Filter Masks _ read their tags, made from dragon hide-

_ There it was again, _ that same feeling she’d had when shopping for protective gloves, like something crawling up her spine to nip and tug with ice sharp teeth against her skin. Something wormed against the base of her skull the further in she strode, until eventually she found the back wall, and hanging on it-

\---

“Hermione!” John hurried after his daughter as she sprinted past him at pace reminiscent of a track star; her brown hair waving in the air behind her as she moved around him and out the door. Emma gaped at the scene as John rushed out after her, moving slowly to the side along with Rosalin as she struggled to understand what happened.

“What could have-”

“Ah’ Merlin,” Rosalin brought a hand to her lips and tutted, “She must’a seen the head. Ol’ Abner hasn’t taken it down yet.”

Emma squinted at the woman, suddenly more concerned than exactly frightened, “What do you mean,  _ head?” _

Rosalin placed her hands on her hips and had the good graces to look somewhat ashamed, “Oh my husban’, Abner Lorain, he was part’a hunting group last fall that went to Romania for supplies. Took out a dragon and had the idea to stuff and mount the head. He thought it’d get us more folk inside; all’is don’ though is scare the children. ‘Specially if they’re Muggleborn. He was supposed ta’ get rid of it last week, judging by your daughter though, he ain’t done it yet.”

Emma Granger, happy and content just a moment ago, felt her face flush with deep red as a scowl overcame her features, “A Dragon  _ head?” _

\---

Diagon Alley; the number one and single-most largest tourist and shopping destination in Wizarding Britain, was more of a smear of roads and tangled cobble streets that winded in and under Muggle London. In three specific locations the Alley had been stripped and severed from itself, an act that left whole locations lifting up and pulling apart until the sprawl itself extended ten more kilometers than it should have, ancient and powerful magics pulling and stretching apart both time and space so that it remained as one continuous stream that could be increasingly pulled apart to allow for constant and efficient expansion.

The Muggles themselves never really seemed to notice anything at all odd when they wandered in and about London; maybe a shimmering here, some feelings of deja vu’ there, a press and pull that felt like they were passing through a thin and heavy sheet cloth. The end result was a full spread that extended until it was longer than Hogsmeade (if one measured generously and on a Tuesday when the Moon had the magic stretching itself beneath the constellations), end to end with  _ only _ businesses and shops. Homes? They had all been removed and relocated until they built up a smaller enclave near the main stretch, linked and dotted much the same as the original expansion had been until someone could easily pass through an alleyway and find themselves on a small street lined with Victorian style homes that sprung up and between more normal Muggle establishments.

The whole of it was a wonder; a truly enormous feat of engineering and magical ingenuity.

And far, far too crowded for Bellatrix Black’s particular tastes.

Not that her preeminent opinion of the place would have been any higher even if the streets were more lightly walked, but it certainly would have been a definite improvement over the mass and throngs of oddly dressed men and women (and the few children looking on in wonder or bored resignation) that moved and milled between shops and sidewalks. The entrance to the Alley that she favored was nearer Knockturn than the Three Broomsticks; Burke’s Discounts and Borgin’s Books standing side by side before an Owl Office with a public Floo, almost empty and abandoned at all hours of the day as people favored the larger (and thus more publicly accessible) twin that hid somewhere down within the main sprawl of the shopping district.

After stepping through the enchanted fireplace, Bellatrix had dusted debris off her steel gray cloak, her nose twitching in disgust at the magic tainted smells of ruined ash and twisted ember, silently pulling along her little wayward nephew until she stood just outside the entrance door. Three or four groups of people were wandering about the outside alleyway; a tour guide in a corner offering information and abstraction to visitors from far off lands, their accents grating and invading Bellatrix’s sensitive ears. With a sigh she swelled her chest up with air in an effort to shore up courage and composure, willing back the fire and the flames that licked around the edges of her mind.  _ ‘Prey,’ _ she thought with a dour look,  _ ‘So much bloody prey.’ _

Her nephew, short and small with a blonde mop of hair that had been tidied into a somewhat acceptable style not even two hours prior, filled his eyes up with wonder that edged in on joy, tugging against her hand in an effort to bring her mind back from the clouds she’d rather be in. She cracked her neck, licked her lips, and stepped forward to join the mindless throngs.

\---

As the morning continued Bellatrix’s black mood grew darker still as she wandered and threaded her way between the crowds, pulling away from the edges of the streets to forge a path through slowly moving bodies. Any smattering of humans, from one or two to great whole crops of them, seemed enough to draw her ire and dissatisfaction, if not her appetite and desire for  _ meat. _ It seemed to only need to last a few moments before her nose was stuffed to hell, and she was sneezing from the stink of them all, her face scrunched up in a scowl and mind alternating between disgust and hunger. Hells; even the places that they willingly chose to abandon were just as likely to remain fouled up and putrid for years after the original inhabitants left for greener pastures, a lingering scent that could be just as sweet as it was putrid. A snarl passed over her lips as she let her mind drift too far inwards; her nephew once again tugging on her hand to calm her down and refocus her on her task.

Ah; their task.

No matter how unseemly the lot of Wizarding Society was, she was stuck here for the day with no choice of turning back; and Draco certainly wouldn’t allow her to spirit him away without obtaining everything on his list of school supplies. Chief of which, and their current destination at the moment, was a pair of Goblin forged scales that just so happened to only be sold on one day a year; a ridiculous imposition that she was sure the sorry little beasts were using to simply increase demand and spike up prices.

Bellatrix  _ hated _ Goblins.

Little beady eyed bastards with just enough of a distant blood relation to dragons that they could point her out among the crowd (not that they had ever done that, no Goblin wished to earn the true ire of a dragon, it was more the fact that they  _ could _ that pissed her off), their faces twisting into snarls of broken teeth and shattered noses hanging long over too thin lips that revealed their sordid nature. Unfortunately, for her at least if not for them, she would be sent down to the lowest layer of Hell if Cissa caught any word of her refusing to visit the little beasts, if she so much as impeded the little Drake even one minute during his search for ridiculous bits and bobs she’d be dead and in the ground before someone could mutter  _ ‘Wyvern.’ _ Again she cracked her neck and sighed as long as she could, forcing herself to once again refocus on her task.

Not that she should have ever needed to accomplish it in the first place, not with Draco’s pureblood lineage flowing through his veins and greatness slumbering just beneath his skin. He  _ should _ have been off in a forest or a secluded cave deep within a system somewhere far away from naked apes to practice and learn his heritage from an Elder of their line. But alas; there was no recourse or ability for her to change this direction; her little nephew had been poisoned through and through by the promise of wonder and adventure by her damnable half-blood niece until it was all he ever bloody talked about, all he ever wanted where instead he should have been focusing on learning to control his myriad of abilities.

But then again, if she really,  _ really _ thought about it; it was all her damnable sister’s fault.

Cissa, short for Narcissa, short for  _ ‘Hi, hello, I love the finer things in life and will spoil my infant son as much as I damned well please, now get off the fucking porch you loaf of scale and hide; you’re blocking my fucking Sun.’ _ The blonde had somehow, against all logic and reason, ended up deciding that Draco’s foolish flight of fancy was a worthwhile endeavor, one worthy of both applause and celebration as she blathered on and on about how wonderful it would be for him to spend some time among their prey, socializing and integrating with peers his own (relative) age.

Narcissa’s leading thought, that Bellatrix had managed to weasel out of dear Luci one night after plying him for hours with a finely aged bottle of Elvish Wine, was that Draco would end up learning how to better appreciate his heritage and inborn advantages if he was introduced to those of a lesser blood; that he would one day come to learn just how high he could fly above them while still remaining placable and kind, instead of haughty or derisive. The pretty words failed to gussy the message up, failing to hide what Cissa had rather of said instead.

She could read between the lines well enough; Draco would grow up and not be  _ her. _

Bugger them all though, she’d been brought up deep within a cavern with just her family for companions, spending years that turned into decades as she honed her skills and determined just how much  _ better _ she was than any lesser creature. And look how well she’d turned out!

Well…

Maybe that wasn’t the best comparison she could make (if her previous altercations with both authority and leadership were anything to go by, or the general displeasure she found herself stewing under whenever an excursion into what Luci called the  _ real world _ was necessary,) but still.

At least she wasn’t a bloody flying loon like Rodolphus.

\---

The trailing groups of wizards and witches meandering around them parted and sheared off towards the sides of the streets as Bellatrix weaved and threaded through the crowds. Draco was tucked up safely against her side, his hand in hers, as they strode off in the direction of Coulson’s Curios, a small store that stood just about a kilometer down the strip. With each couple or single wanderer that passed her by, at a wide berth and with eyes downturned, Bellatrix began to smile more and more, wider and wider, her teeth bared and eyes filled with mirth as they rapidly moved around to avoid her. Prey showing the proper respect was something she loved about these docile little Apes, even if it came at the cost of interacting with them to begin with.

There weren’t really that many ways for a normal human to tell there was a Drake wandering among them, and though their Ministry had made great strides with far more effort in recent years to determine their general population levels, it didn’t seem to be working out for them all that well. Not that there was any lack of trying; no, there were certainly many more of them living along the peripheries of Wizarding Britain, her sisters and brother-in-law notwithstanding, the Ministry just seemed to never be able to find them even if they were right beneath their noses.

Bellatrix’s ears perked up and backwards when a particularly loud child began squealing in a shop that they were wandering by, her inward thoughts immediately turning to curse at her inability to close off her ear canals as she could have done if she were in either of her other two forms. As she was right now? A human look alike? Well, she couldn’t do much more than grit her teeth in displeasure and hurry up her steps to pull Draco along when he tried stopping to get a better earful of whatever the child inside was on about. If anyone at all noticed the tips of her ears as they passed them by, none gave any indication, and the remainder of her tells were hidden deeply beneath an application of glamours and clothing.

She had drilled those lessons, hide themselves and their true selves, into both Draco and Nymphadora as soon as they could listen to her without drifting off towards other thoughts; important as the information was, it was more important still that they decided to willingly absorb the knowledge and understanding of  _ why _ they had to protect themselves. The Purges and the Hunts might have been a distant memory to their minds, that moment when Prey became their Hunter, but for her it still stung and ached as if the loss had only happened yesterday, cut down as they were by Apes that thought them to be nothing more than mindless flying pests.

The first lesson that she had imparted to the two of them had been the methods of covering up the presence of their scales, something that Draco had needed to know much more so than Nymphadora as his human facade would still leave a few patches or two exposed to the wider world. Their torsos when in human form were almost completely devoid of any scaling, though upon their chest and in between the valley running centerline there would remain a fine dusting of thin scales that shimmered gray and dark beneath the light. Their shoulders would hold onto some as well; a faint pattern that ran on from what at the front, gray at the top, and finally to their true coloration upon the back. Another line of scales descended from the nape of their neck to press and cover the vertebra of their spines, following each bump downwards until fanning out across their hips to slide on down the top of their thighs. The placement for most dragons was always the same, Nymphadora excluded as well as any who lacked proper nutrition and diet, or who remained in their human like form for too long.

The breadth of their scales, when in human form or drake, would fall away as something of a shed at least once a month, but never truly shine as fully and as brightly as they would if they stayed in the form of a Dragon. Their ears were another matter but one that was blessedly easier to solve, being that they could pass off the slight peculiarity as something that had been passed down through family lines, or an inherited trait from some distant ancestor; an easily ignored excuse by the whole of Wizarding Society as there were many more half-breeds that had extended or tipped ears beyond just those of Dragon descent. And really, if it became such a problem that they could be caught out, they would simply move to hide them with the application of strong glamours and appear as normal as everyone else.

“Aunt Bella,” Draco tugged gently on her hand once before increasing the fervor of his pull as the tip of the shop came within their vision, pulling her roughly from her introspection and back into the reality of this dimwitted society’s idea of ‘high-class’.

Bellatrix sighed before looking down as his quietly pouting form, giving him an exasperated and long suffering look that immediately shut down his hatchling-eyes and attempts at guilting her into forward movement, “Fine then, let’s go and get this over with already.”

She moved, one foot deftly placed in front of the other, before suddenly pausing mid stride to sniff the incoming wind. “What-”

“Oof,” a girl let out in a huff that was half panic and half hurt, her body checking right up against Bellatrix’s right hip before she went running on past with an Ape following right behind. Bellatrix cleared her head as she watched the swiftly retreating forms, fully ready to let the incident go and chalk it up to Humans being Humans, before something… Well, something odd caught her attention. She sniffed the air again, this time no longer in danger of being bowled over by a creature three quarters her height, letting something familiar settle in along her senses. Draco turned in her grasp, his eyes wide and a question on his lips before she could reorient her still slightly dazed mind.

“Auntie?” He placed his hand atop her own, “Is everything alright?”

Draco’s voice was high and squeaky in her ears, the crowing of a prepubescent human where it should have been the strong and warbling call of his true self. But alas, there was nothing for her to do that could correct this imagined slight.

“Everything’s fine,” she reached up and squeezed his shoulder lightly when the smell that had struck her just so began to fade, “Just thought I smelled something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up; The Sorting Ceremony and the beginning of Hermione's Academic Career, as well as some fun times with Bellatrix.


	4. A Nest of Unlit Matches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'll re-edit later)

** _Three Hours Before Departure_ **

Hermione’s head weaved back and forth on a swivel that refused to leave the pile of shirts, uniform parts, toiletries, and comfort items all strewn across her bed. The last few hours had been a mad rush for her to finish packing up the last disparate portions of her school supplies, an effort made all the harder by the indecision plaguing more than a few of the optional tag-alongs; books and bits that brought her nothing more than a comforting sense of familiarity whenever the world around her barged in too far, things that took up little space but were extraneous in the highest sense. That sense of indecision and second guessing had led to her trunk sitting open for over a week now, the item all set and ready to be filled but empty regardless.

She’d had all the time in the world, and still somehow managed to push it to the absolute last second.

Procrastination was a hangover and mannerism that she was sure she had picked up from her father rather than her mother; procrastination and waiting until the absolute last possible second was his bread and butter to the point where it sometimes landed him in hotter water than he could handle. Somehow though, in some way, she always seemed to manage to make it work out in the end.

_ ‘Toothbrush,’ _ she scanned the pile for the hundredth time,  _ ‘Sleep shirts,’ _ she picked up the assorted grouping left atop her covers and sorted through them; fourteen in case something happened to her back-up shirt’s back-up. She  _ knew _ (in an abstract and still unformed way) that laundry was supposed to be handled via magic, that her over packing wasn’t worth the stress, but… Here she was.

_ ‘Special shirt…’ _

With a slight amount of trepidation (and well-deserved reservation), Hermione picked up the long sleeved shirt that she had been wearing while out in Diagon with her family, the one that now seemed just a little bit… off, since their return. Not off as in  _ ‘This is terrible, destroy it immediately’ _ , quite the opposite really. It was as if… 

Well, the absolute easiest way to describe it was just to say it all rather than stand around with a blush that made her feel like her head was on fire, like she was a match someone had just struck. The shirt  _ smelled. _

Not bad, not bad in any way, but it… it  _ smelled! _ It smelled like oranges and her favorite books, like the warm comfort of love (but a  _ different _ love from the type her parents showered her with), it smelled of warm fires and the open ground, of the fresh air on a day when nothing could go wrong. It stuck in her nostrils and wrapped her up in the comforting feeling of  _ completion. _

When she had returned from that trip, with her heart still racing and stuck within her throat from that horrid display in the clothing shop, she had run straight up to her room, curled up deep within a nest of warm blankets and pillows, and kept her nose tucked against her chest as she inhaled the comforting scent for all it was worth. Even now she would shiver and shake when she thought back on that terrible sight, a full dragons head mounted to a wall and twisted into some unnatural snarl by the wizarding equivalent of a taxidermist. It was wrong, it was immoral, it was… Well.

She couldn’t really complain, could she? Seeing as her wand held a piece of one's heart. It was a twisted thing to come to grips with; the tool that would enable her to use magic most effectively was powered by someone that had once beat proudly beneath a heavily armored chest. But it was still… different. Though she knew it was  _ wrong, _ implicitly and without distraction, to use something that seemed so majestic as a tool, her wand felt… right. Like the smell stuck to her shirt it was comforting and powerful, a steady hand to hold when the world seemed like it was just too much.

But those were thoughts for another time, preferably one that wasn’t dwindling down to nothing while her parents tapped their feet in impatience down below her room.

\---

** _Thirty Minutes After Leaving the Station_ **

With heavy thump that sounded like something meaty crashing into another equally meaty item, the compartment door closing Hermione off from the rest of the train was opened wide, a voice poking through to say, “Oh, pardon me.”

Hermione was startled from the deeper portions of her  _ ‘A History of Magic’ _ textbook to look up at the intruder; a girl with platinum blonde hair attached to a small but warmly inviting face, a collared shirt in whimsical colorations of orange and purple wrapping up her torso in a kaleidoscope of tie dye that was more interesting to the eye than it was distressing. The girl was nearly as pale as a sheet except in her eyes, two twin moons of silver with just enough of a hint of blue color to give them an ethereal and ghostly look instead of something sickly and unnatural.

“I’m sorry to intrude on you like this, but would you mind if I came in and sat?” Her voice was soft and lilting with an accent, but again like her eyes it was ethereal and calming rather than confusing or hard to hear through like some accents that were spread across Britain.

“Sure,” Hermione smiled and nodded before moving over to sit further along the bench with her hands tucked up safely into the hem of her sweater where it was soft, warm, and comforting against the chill that seemed to pervade the compartment despite the warmth of late summer weather. Hermione turned slightly until her back was tucked against the corner of the compartment so as to look out into the whole of it, all the while wondering exactly what this strange girl wanted, or needed.

When she moved it was in a direction that Hermione hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t expected, and soon enough she was torn away from what her understanding of  _ “Yes, you may enter and sit with me”  _ meant (though she quickly mulled that little bit over and decided that  _ no, _ she did not know what that could be or mean, seeing as she was joining a culture as alien to her as the Spaniards must have been to the Aztecs.) The girl smiled as she moved to sit directly against Hermione’s side, a muffled  _ ‘Oof’ _ passing between them as her body was leaned heavily against.

Hermione had never been one to deal that well with matters of personal space, not with how aggressively and annoyingly her own had been invaded and desecrated by bullies during Primary school, and as the girl settled in with a warm sigh beside her she could feel her breath settle in her chest and throat close up in something just short of terror. Slowly, as if the girl understood that Hermione was suddenly uncomfortable (and how could she not with how close they were now), the girl remained quiet and unmoving until enough time had passed for Hermione to no longer feel like she would explode with embarrassment and confusion.

“Hi,” the girl turned to her and offered a hand in greeting, “I’m Luna Anesidora Lovegood. It’s quite nice to meet someone like you, I wasn’t sure that there were any left. At least if I believe what my Dad says. My mother is much more open to thinking there are more. Would it bother you if I touched your ears?” The girl -  _ Luna _ \- looked over at her with expectant eyes, a tilted head, and a quizzical silver-blue look that had Hermione more confused than ever when she smiled beautifully and warmly. It was an odd request, perhaps even one of the oddest that she had ever heard, but the girl didn’t  _ seem _ to be teasing her in any way, she was just…

Staring.

Staring, and smiling, silver-blue piercing yellow-brown, warmth and nothing but sincerity flowing between them.

“I mean-,”

“Cool!” Luna practically jumped where she sat, her body twisting and turning to partially lean up against Hermione with one hand securely on her shoulder and the other reaching up to part the frizz and curls that Hermione’s hair had grown out into. When she found what she wanted, and Hermione knew exactly when she had found it, she immediately set to running one finger down the longer edge of Hermione’s ear in a reverent way that one might pet a cherished dog or cat. Up and down, one finger traced the hard cartilage from the base near Hermione’s skull and back up to the pointed tip until she was all but purring away beneath Luna’s touch. The sound was odd even to her, having never once made it that she could remember, and it rumbled out through her chest in a calming wave of steady breath.

Hermione realized quite belatedly that she sounded like one of the cats that her neighbor (Ms. Jo on a good day, the Crazy Cat Lady Next Door on any other) kept strewn about her home. Quickly though she was too far into the feeling to care about how she sounded, the motion seeming to scratch some deeply hidden itch beneath her soul. Her eyes closed on their own as she leaned into the touch, Luna continuing to practically pet her as the minutes wore on. All too quickly though the feeling began to fade along with the stroking motions and sound of rough purring. A whimpering growl startled its way out of her throat when the finger was removed, her eyes opening in shock at the ridiculous noise she had just made.

“Now then,” Luna smiled and leaned back slightly, “Since we’re such fast friends-”

Hermione’s head cocked as she shifted in her seat, “Wait, what do you-,”

“-how about you help me with something?” That blessed hand returned to Hermione’s head when the girl finished talking, warm and trailing with a deliberate slowness that had Hermione’s thoughts scattered to the four corners of the wind while she was filled with calm. “Would you mind helping me look for a scared little prey animal?”

_ ‘A… a prey animal?’ _ Hermione blanched with confusion beneath the soft touch of Luna’s fingers, mind wanting to stick to what the girl had said but unable to do so.

Luna seemed to expect the oncoming questions and distress, and resolutely began to increase the pace at which she was petting Hermione, determined and ready to keep her calm and on point.

“Neville, he’s a friend of mine and another first year, he lost his familiar unfortunately. He’s been looking all up and down the train for it and I figured that I’d help him,” Luna pulled away before clasping her hands together atop her lap, grinning all the while at Hermione with something suspiciously close to something Cheshire in nature, “I figured that you could help us to find it in no time! Oh, and before I forget,” Luna raised a stern finger and glared, “No eating it.”

Hermione stared, confused, bewildered, unsure about her reactions to Luna’s touch or the madness of her last words.  _ ‘I don’t think I’ll ever quite get used to this.’ _ Still though, she nodded her assent.

\---

Her first stop after meeting with Luna and the shy boy known as Neville (altogether a brief and perfunctory interaction, beyond his eyes lighting up with happiness when she agreed to help) was the compartment lying next door to their own. The space was small (the same as her own) and filled with only two boys, each sitting on either side of the benches. One had a head filled up with red and orange hair that reminded her of the fire she could summon, the other had a mop of unruly dark curls so black as to make ink envious. Their eyes, blue and then green, peered up at her with no small amount of confusion when she opened the door to peek inside.

“Hello,” Hermione shot them a smile as she waved to them both, “You’re first years too?”

The boy with black hair shifted his gaze between the other boy and then herself, “Yes, I’m Harry,” he held out a hand for her to shake, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Hermione Granger,” she reached across the space between them to take the offered hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” When she was done and his hand released she turned towards the other boy who was now staring at her with an expression halfway between curious and wary, his blue eyes flitting up and down as she stood there in silence.

Something eventually seemed to click within his mind, his head tilting slightly and eyes widening, “I’m Ron Weasely,” he said with something like bravado and pride in his tone, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Hermione took the hand, shook it, and then almost immediately recoiled as politely as she could.

_ ‘Something is off about him,’ _ she reflected to herself, the feeling of his clammy hand in hers still unwelcome in her mind and on her skin. The silence continued to stretch on awkwardly between them all until Hermione fully realized the lull in conversation, her breath hitching between her lips at the faux pas, “Oh, right, I’m here because a boy a few compartments over lost his familiar, a toad. Would either of you have happened to see it anywhere?”

“Probably Neville’s,” Ronald turned towards Harry with a sharp smirk on his face, “He’s always losing his stuff. Better hope that he finds the bloody thing before his parents find out. I’d hate to see how badly his mum’ll tan his hide this time.”

Harry opened his mouth and looked about ready to say something before thinking better of it and turning back towards Hermione with a frown across his face, “Sorry Hermione, but we haven’t seen it. If we do though, we’ll catch it and pass it off.”

“Cool,” Hermione nodded somewhat nervously when Ronald’s eyes once again passed over her, her body slowly retreating through the entrance while she spoke, “Thank you. And it was nice meeting you two.”

\---

The longer that they traveled, and the longer that Hermione searched, the more it seemed to be that time itself was bending and warping as the train trundled along the aged tracks. The task that should have been over quickly (locate the frog and return it,) seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time to complete. Forty five minutes, seven compartments, and thirteen students who looked at her with something approaching disdain within their eyes.

All too finally (blessedly) locate  _ something _ odd.

This oddness in particular happened to be less of a who, or a what, and instead was a  _ smell. _

The scent hung around the back portion of the train (but not so far back as to leave her with those in higher years) in cloying patches of stagnant and marshy air. It smelled not dissimilar to the moss and lichen that grew along the trees outside her home, earthy and heavy to the point of distraction. She hadn’t smelled anything like this before (and she had never once made it a point to smell  _ frogs _ or  _ toads _ when she was younger), and the concentration was almost ridiculously intense within the confined spaces of the train cars. She couldn’t even guess how the other students were dealing with the smell, and had to assume that poor Neville must not have any sense of smell if something this odorous was his familiar.

_ ‘Toads, bah. They’d make for terrible eating,’ _ Hermione thought, and then froze.  _ ‘Why am I still thinking of that? Is it because of France?’ _

It… well, it did make an odd sort of sense.

Hermione’s mind was roiling with memories; the week long trip that she and her family had taken to France the summer before had included a full round of culinary tourism, and on that list had been Frog’s Legs. The meat had been both tasty and well cooked, so maybe it was that? Maybe Luna’s words had simply sparked some latent batch of feelings or cravings for the odd dish, and now it was stuck rattling around her head.

_ ‘Yes,’ _ she reassured herself,  _ ‘That’s all.’ _

Reassured that her wandering mind wasn’t mad or insane, Hermione continued onwards until she was deep within the thick of the terrible odor, her body positioned before a compartment that she hadn’t entered yet. Steeling herself (and her stomach) Hermione knocked on the wood paneling twice before sliding the compartment open and walking herself halfway inside.

Tucked up quietly into separate corners of the space were three young boys who looked to be no older than she herself was; one blonde haired, one black, and one with hair shaved down so closely to his head that she couldn’t even tell what color it naturally was. Black and Blonde were both as pale as white sheets, their eyes and the mops atop their heads being the only color besides the drab darkness of their robes. No Hair, however, was dressed in what Hermione could only assume was homemade garb; flowing green robes that looked to have been spun out by hand, golden threads holding the assemblage together, and a bloodred crest to some ancient House that she couldn’t recognize sitting atop his left breast pocket.

“Hello,” Hermione nodded and greeted them all with a sweeping smile, “I’m looking for a toad. Would any of you have happened to see it anywhere?”

A second passed where no one spoke, everyone simply looking about and to one another as Hermione’s words faded into silence. She felt her eyes drawn (not uncomfortably) towards Blonde and No Hair; the golden child looking up at her with a mixture of confusion in his face, the other piercing her with red tinged eyes that seemed to pass right through her. He was, in Hermione’s honest opinion, what she would imagine a predator to be; aloof and hard, yet deceptive in appearance. She shivered beneath his gaze as it lingered, words and questions cloying her throat to escape but quashed down by the polite expectations of societal interaction.

_ ‘I’ll have to keep an eye on that one.’  _ Hermione could feel her heart agree with her words, this boy was  _ not _ normal by any means (even among a train filled to the brim with witches and wizards).

“Oh,” Blonde answered before the others when enough awkward time had passed, “I’ve got him here, toads are terrible familiars though-”

“Oh, it’s not mine,” Hermione interjected with no small amount of force to her voice, “It belongs to Neville Longbottom, I was just helping him to look for it.”

“I see,” Blonde reached beneath himself and the bench seat, pulling out a wriggling little amphibian colored in yellow and green.

** _'I bet I could eat that.' _ **

_ ‘... What,’ _ Hermione felt her entire mind seize up as the foreign thought passed through her brain, toad staring up at her from between the boys hands while silence reigned all around them.

“Oh,” Hermione startled when her mind refocused to come to the realization that the boy was still talking, “I’m terribly sorry but could you repeat that?”

Blonde narrowed his eyes in something like disdain, “My name is Draco, Draco Malfoy. What’s your-”

“Hermione,” she interrupted him again and took the offered toad, her face flushing a copper-red, “My name’s Hermione Granger. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Uh huh,” the boy -  _ Draco _ \- stared back at her with a mixture of confusion (likely over not recognizing her name, or perhaps it was her odd actions?) before Hermione hurriedly gave her excuses and backed away from the door, Black hair and No Hair continuing to stare at her without even saying a word.

_ ‘Bugger,’ _ Hermione thought,  _ ‘I think I messed that all up.’ _

\---

** _Arrival_ **

Hogwarts; a mighty castle sequestered in the rolling hills of Scotland, a school hidden from general human populations so well that no one Muggle even knew that something was being hidden from them. It was a beautiful place, at least to Hermione’s eyes, a great and sloping beast that rose upwards from the ground to cap itself in haunting spirals and epic balustrades, spires and sheer walls rolling and climbing until they reached some oddly determined apex. It was like every storybook castle that she had read about, and yet at the same time like none of them at all.

Water was slowly lapping against the small rowboat she was sitting in, languid rolls that sprayed her with finely misted water whenever the occasional gust of wind sent them rocking and rolling. Luna was beside her as they passed over the inky water, both of their hearts beating faster and faster as they came closer to arriving. Neville was seated behind her in the boat (his toad safely held away from Hermione’s sight, and nose), and though they were all quiet none was avoiding the other. Simply enough they were all absorbed by the majesty slowly inching closer to them as the enchanted boats rowed themselves closer to shore.

Hagrid had been a treat when she stepped off the train; a giant with a booming voice that rolled over her ears, filled her chest, and sent her true confirmation that this was  _ real. _ She  _ was _ a witch, she was a witch going to a school to learn  _ magic! _

Unfortunately though, and it was only a small stain on the wonder of the arrival, it appeared that rudeness from the Muggle world had followed her over into this enchanted dimension. It would still be an uphill battle, something she had to face, regardless of the fact that they all held magic within their grasp. Draco had immediately set to avoiding her when they stepped off the train to follow Hagrid, and so had Black Hair and No Hair; their eyes hard and chipped when she approached them to join them in a boat. They had instead sped off towards their own boat and left her to her own devices, Luna approaching silently to thread their arms and pull her off with Neville towards an empty boat further along the dock.

No matter; their issues with her could be ironed out later, for now she was truly arriving.

With little in the way of fanfare or cheer (each of them quiet and pensive as they awaited for Hagrid to let them out), they approached a deck hidden beneath a winding cliff face, the massive castle and ornate architecture far up above them in the distance. Neville’s toad croaked once beneath the safety of the boy’s pocket as they stepped up onto the wooden platform, Hermione’s mind immediately sent back to whatever state she had been in during the train ride until Luna pulled her along with a smile and kind words.

\---

“Students,” the warm and heavily lilting voice of McGonagall filled their ears and quieted the group as they were shepherded along the wide hallway by Hagrid, the Professor standing atop a flight of stairs that they were slowly ascending. “If I could have your attention, please.”

The group, already hushed, closed in around the Professor with wonder in their eyes and mouths on many slightly agape at the sight of two humongous doors at the Professor’s back. When the shuffling of feet died down to leave them all in silence and quietude, the woman nodded once and stepped backwards until she was near the handles of the giant doors.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. As I am the Deputy Headmistress of this school, it is my honor and pleasure to welcome you all inside. After I open this door you will walk through to be sorted into a House. When you leave you will have been sorted into one of four, four Houses which have stood strong and immutable throughout the ages, a millennium of history surrounding you on all sides. Each of our Houses has particular traits that they lay claim to, but there will be only one for each of you. Now,” she pulled out her wand and tapped it along the handle at her side, “Follow me.”

\---

One by one the gaggle of students wandered forward and into two organized lines, each awaiting their turn to sit and be sorted into a House. Each person looked some mixture of exuberant and nervous, some of them shivering while others remained placid, each and every one inside their own heads as they waited for their name to be called. The older man sitting silently in the center of a long table raised up above the floor was peering down at them with grandfatherly eyes and a soft smile on his face, clapping just as vigorously as they were sorted into Lions as they were when placed among the Snakes. Hermione had stared up at him when her name was called, something feeling like a cold wash flood through her veins, before her heart steeled up and warmth pounded through her limbs.

_ ‘I can do this…’ _

With slowly moving feet Hermione approached the small stool placed before Professor McGonagall, the Sorting Hat set safely within her hands. She turned, sat down, and felt the heavy cloth slide over the top of her head until the brim was low enough to block her vision, pointed ears pressing in painfully with the snugness of the fit.

_ “Ah,” it began to speak to her in a voice that flooded through her mind without ever once feeling the cloth move, “Well we haven’t had one of  _ ** _you_ ** _ in ages, now have we? No, no, the last one would have been well… ages ago.” _

_ “Um, excuse me, but what do you mean?” Hermione asked her question from within the safety of her mind, somewhat at odds and confused with how this whole  _ ** _mind-talking_ ** _ thing worked, “Who haven’t you seen in ages?” _

_ “Oh, so you- Well, no matter. I’m sure this will all work out in the end, things always seem to do so, no matter how long of a winding path it takes. Now then, now then, where shall I put you?” _

_ “ _ ** _Not_ ** _ in Hufflepuff, please, please not Hufflepuff,” Hermione repeated the words like a mantra through her head, worried but in no way ashamed by her desire. That particular House seemed like it would be an alright group, from what she had read at least, a group of stalwart friends and lovers of the natural world, but with their feet firmly planted in the ground. It simply wasn’t a good fit, her head was up above with clouds and sky, not down on the ground amid shrubs and plants. _

_ “Of course, of course, not Hufflepuff for you, you’re far more likely to  _ ** _eat _ ** _ them all rather than get along, so where does that leave you, eh? You could do well in Gryffindor you know; you’re wonderfully brave beneath all that self-doubt, and intensely honest for a child of your age. You’d be a true friend who’d believe in her convictions; ready to run off and help those who needed it in a heartbeat. You’d be a Champion, girl.” The Hat slowly shifted atop her head, pointing her hidden eyes and nose in the direction of the Lion’s table, “A true Lion in spirit if not in body.” _

_ “No thank you,” Hermione countered his words, “I’m not really all that brave. I just get scared and anxious until I just…  _ ** _do_ ** _ things. Nor am I brash! I’d be a terrible Lion, I swear. I’d always be worrying about safety above all else, that’s no place for a worrywart like me.” _

_ “Well then what do you think about Ravenclaw? You devoured all your first year books already, you’ve an absolutely  _ ** _voracious_ ** _ appetite for knowledge. I dare say that you’ll be the Brightest Dr-, er, Witch, of the Age. Yes, yes, you’ll be the best in that House if you wanted. Books, learning, applied mathematics and numerology; does any of that sound interesting to you?” _

_ “Yes,” Hermione piped up while those around them continued to stare at the Hat-Stall, “Though… it does sound just a bit boring, I guess. And I want to learn but I want friends as well, not just book smarts but people smarts too.” _

_ “Hmm… Well then we have Slytherin left, your first fit if I do say so, I would have sent you there right away if you weren’t so filled with indecision. You’ll be a marvel there, the Heir to a legacy we haven’t seen in ages. Smarts,” the Hat twisted her towards the Snakes, “Well you’ve got those in bunches; clever? I think you could find your way out of a sealed maze. Are you cunning? Well, you’ve managed to remain hidden so far, though I do believe that one or two are guessing, ah yes. Since you’re turned off of the others, since your heritage matters to  _ ** _me_ ** _ if no one else-” _

_ “Wait,” Hermione interjected to suddenly passionate voice, “What?!” _

“SLYTHERIN!”

The Hat’s voice broke through the piercing blanket of unnatural quietude that had fallen across the Hall and all those in attendance, the word sonorous and deep as it reverberated against the ancient walls. Soon, a second or two later at most, a raucous level of clapping and cheers kicked up from the table to her right, all the students there in uniforms trimmed in silver and green.

Hermione stood up, her feet wobbly beneath her as questions clouded her mind and drew her away from what was actually happening. Slowly, with care and nervousness evident in every step, she moved to join her new Housemates.

_ ‘What in the world have I gotten myself into?’ _


	5. Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild editing  
Sorry, not sorry

Narcissa Malfoy  née Black was in no way, shape, or form, a woman that one would want to cross (intentionally or not.)

Beyond the simple fact that she was married to one of the single most influential men in the Human’s Wizarding Government, she was also one of the most well regarded and frequently lauded Dragons from the British Lineages. She was both the perfect image of cultured Human aristocracy,  _ and _ the perfect mole; artfully hidden beneath guise and costume that allowed her to present towards those Mundanes and Magicals (who were unaware of  _ true _ history), as the perfect wife.

Perfect; in all the myriad little ways that her sisters were not.

She understood that, knew it implicitly, but that wasn’t to say that she didn’t love each of them as they were, or that she went about her life without cherishing them with every little piece of her slowly beating heart. But… Well… 

Narcissa was under no spell, no veil, no illusion that hid away the fact that they were  _ different, _ to put it mildly.

Whenever she walked into a room filled with Humans all the eyes in attendance turned immediately onto her, each quick and latching on like a lamprey looking for a meal.

Whenever Bellatrix walked in, they would all turn away in terror instead. All their fears, all their shame, exploding violently outwards until they shivered beneath her gaze just as prey would.

Whenever Andromeda walked in, well… To be quite honest she had walked in fifteen minutes before and not a single person had even noticed. Which, generally, was just how she liked it.

Each of them their own woman, their own Dragon, each distinct but bound to the other two beyond mere limits of flesh and blood. Three was considered an especially important number to their species; special even beyond the simple superstitions that Humans attributed to seven or thirteen.

The Sun, the Moon, and the Earth.

They each had hatched from the same clutch, coincidentally Druella’s only clutch, as the manner of their escape had pulled gristle and blood from her bulk until the mighty Dragoness had been unable to bring new life into their verdant world. But even thought they all shared a mother each were different in their own way, their colors and appearances had forced their Father, Lord Cygnus Black(-Hide, in the old days) to search out a High Priestess, and consult with her on the matter of their deviations. At first his worries had been confined to Human intervention, the worry and fear that somehow, someway, an imbecilic Witch or Wizard had influenced the manner of their birth, steering them away from their birthright and into oddity instead.

As he came to find out that hadn’t been the case at all, they each were healthy as could be, but the answer was just was odd, if not worrying.

Bellatrix and Andromeda; the Twins, one of Black, one of Brown, mirrored versions of the Moon and the Earth, the first  _ true _ twins in nearly ten centuries. Then there had been she herself, the small runt, blonde and waxen beneath the harsh light that fell down upon her scales.

_ ‘Albinism,’ _ the Priestess had told him,  _ ‘Twins,’ _ she had uttered in amazement.

Cygnus had loved them all the same, despite their oddities and despite his penchant for outmoded thought and instinct that said  _ pain _ should come before  _ reassurance. _ His temperament had never been what one could describe as lenient, but over time she had come to believe that he had-

“Cissa,” Lucius spoke up beside her in a warm tone that wrenched Narcissa’s head from the reverie she had been stuck in, her eyes widened and a gasp escaping her throat, “Sorry dear, but you haven’t by chance seen Bella anywhere, have you? I’ve a package for her but she’s nowhere to be found.”

She smiled slightly as Lucius drew up around her with a soft palm on her shoulder and caring eyes placating her soul, so cold but still oh so bright. A second passed where she held her mouth open but unable to release the words sliding back down her throat, his own eyes suddenly widening as he realized her position, the trouble hidden behind her own.

He smiled in just  _ that _ way, that maddeningly calming way of his that had her snuggling up to his embrace and sighing contentedly as his strong arms grounded her and the sweetness of his scent calmed her beating heart.

Narcissa placed a kiss along the cool skin covering his pulse, “I haven’t dear,” her words mumbling into the crook of his neck and errant blonde locks pushed away by her breath. “She went out with me yesterday to see Draco off, but since then I haven’t seen a single scale of hers.”

Lucius contented himself with running strong nails in a pattern along her back and shoulders, body twisting side to side with the slightest of effort to rock her within the embrace, “Well then there’s nothing to do about it. The package can wait, I just didn’t want her to miss it.”

“Are you sure?” Narcissa pulled away slightly to lock her blue eyes with his own, “She has more than a few haunts that I can check out. It wouldn’t be a bother.”

He shook his head, “No, no matter. I can have the elves bring it to her once she’s back.” He released the hold he had on her to press a soft kiss against her cheek, “I’ll be up in the study if you need me, Avery will be stopping by later. I’ll make sure you’re notified when he arrives.”

Narcissa nodded and hummed her assent before pecking him once more upon the cheek as he released her fully to walk away, her arms curling in over her chest as her mind drifted back towards her eldest sibling.

Bellatrix was, at best, a wildcard capable of absolutely dashing apart bad situations until they’d been run around and transformed into perfect moments. At her worst she was a cannonball, no direction and no worries at all about barreling through anything and everything on her way to wreak havoc and destruction. She could  _ always _ be counted on for her unpredictability, and more than a few of her far more  _ interesting _ moments had ended with bloodshed and violence that was almost artful to watch. She was a Black-Hide first and foremost, the absolute embodiment of their Clan’s spirit and energy, with looks (and energy) to match.

Narcissa meandered out towards the front porch of the Manor, her pace leisurely and languid, heels clicking steadily upon the marble floor as she made her way without bothering to really look where she was headed. Her heartbeat kicked up in time to match the rhythm of her feet, mind curling inwards as she worked over her sister and her vexing penchant for managing impossible disappearing acts. Andromeda had never been like this, she had never once been prone to absence or disappearance, instead always prompt to reply or make herself or her intentions known. But well… Andromeda was also different from  _ both _ of her sisters, in vastly different ways.

Not that Narcissa would ever begrudge her for those differences; their disparities were what kept them all unique, and Theodore was such a  _ lovely _ Human, not to mention her delightful Half-Breed Niece that took after Bellatrix far more than she did her own mother. 

But it was, sometimes at least, just all too much for her to handle or deal with, usually only really managing to hit home whenever she found the time to stop and reflect on it all.

She herself, the youngest and the oddest in terms of their species, yet still she managed to be the one most able to integrate with the world surrounding them. An Albino since birth, married and then mated to a French Glint Wing, her only child (a full-blooded Dragon beyond reproach), no off to attend a Magical school meant for  _ Humans. _

It was insane.

All of it, from nose to tail.

When she came back to the world of the living she found herself outside and on the wraparound porch, the sun just beginning to fall out from behind the curving mountains in the distance, while her mind fought itself to determine just where her Elder sister might have gone.

She  _ could _ be back at the old Manor; a decrepit and abandoned hunk of brick and wood that lay in disuse with the exception of the large pit in the center of the basement that Bellatrix had dug out as a hole to hide away in.  _ That _ would most usually be where she could find her, the one haunt she returned to more than any other, but the interweaving wards both Human and Draconic would have alerted her to Bellatrix’s arrival, a buzz like lemon juice sprinting through the pathways of her brain had they been disturbed.

But they hadn’t.

Which meant that she could be hiding away at one of her more concealed homes, the ones that Bellatrix generally preferred to pretend didn’t exist, and each of them mostly only ever visited by Siri now that he had left Orion and Walburga’s clutches. But if she had gone there then Narcissa was sure to receive a quick Owl or a Floo call from Sirius; Bellatrix had never been his favorite cousin and when the two of them were left in close quarters, things tended to be lit on fire.

_ ‘No,’ _ she thought, feet carrying her further down the brick paved lane that ran up the front of the Manor,  _ ‘If she’s not at any of  _ ** _those_ ** _ places, well…’ _

That really only left one place to look.

The cave.

Narcissa  _ hated _ caves.

Despite the fact that she had been born to a species that spent far more time underneath the cover of darkness than any other,  _ she _ couldn’t stand enclosed spaces or the darkened lairs that caves and legitimate nests provided. Her single concession to the brightness of her hair, the one  _ deficiency _ as her Father had so artfully put it, was her constant search for open spaces filled with brightness and the presence of others, a world much stronger thanks to the light of the Sun.

But Bellatrix fucking  _ loved _ caves.

_ ‘Cavernous bint,’ _ Narcissa rolled her eyes and huffed a disgruntled sigh before disapparating with a crack of sound, leaving only dust to swirl behind her as she zipped away.

\---

The Crystal Cavern was a jewel singular unto itself, a treasure unlike any other that Bellatrix had ever coveted, despite the vast riches she had seen and the long life that she had led.

The massive space was built from a hole dug deep inside a cliff face along the Northern coast of Scotland, a single small passage blasting inwards from the water line to open out into a bowl of shattered and glittering stalactites. It was large enough inside for her to fly in and out unobstructed, the center being the only space above the waterline; an island formed from compacted fragments of crystals and minerals sitting beneath the largest outcropping of downward pointed spikes.

The minerals were all  _ somewhat _ magical, Bellatrix knew that to be true by sight even if they hadn’t emitted a thin light that blanketed the space behind a grimy veil of blue-green shadow.

Light; wispy and ethereal, passing on down through something else deep within the cliff sitting atop her, its form narrowing down a beam that pulsed soft and steady rhythms to keep the space from being too dark to see.

It was beautiful, and the most perfect place in the world for Bellatrix to keep her hoard.

Contrary to many of her brethren, her hoard was more an amalgamation of  _ things,  _ rather than the riches and jewels that most Muggles and Wizards seemed to assume that they treasured. Oh sure, there were a few species of Dragon that coveted gold and riches above all else, that sought the accumulation of wealth as a need just as strong as that which drove them to breathe. Dear Lucius was one such beast; a Dragon turned to a Businessman, his best days were those in which he made, sold, or managed to accrue vast sums and shining riches, either for himself or for his clients.

Glint Wings were always like that though, those bloody bastards were the entire reason that the Muggles had slowly built up such insane beliefs over who knew how many years. Yes, let a few knights find a shimmering nest and suddenly  _ all _ Dragons hoarded treasures beyond belief. 

Not Bellatrix thought, not Black-Hides.

She, and by extension  _ they, _ all hoarded items that were of a far more personal importance than monetary, no matter how large or small. Their burrows and their nests were all well guarded secrets filled with treasured mementos and priceless artifacts that were special only to themselves.

The fake wedding band that Bellatrix’s first crush had placed upon her finger? In the pile.

The shimmering blue stone that her Aunt Cassi had dug up from beneath the riverbed behind their nest, back when she was still a hatchling and far more prone to fall rather than fly? In the pile.

The collected works of one Wolfgang J. Schmidt; a fiction writer who’d written a series depicting aliens and men from Mars that had been only printed once before he died destitute and homeless, gifted to her by a traveling Princess three hundred years ago?  _ Also,  _ in the pile.

_ All _ of it, in the pile.

But it was currently this  _ one _ thing, this odd and highly unusual  _ thing, _ that had her rolling and huffing in a highly agitated state.

Bellatrix’s body (the true one, that is,) was a large and imposing beast, massive beyond mortal belief. She was at least seventeen meters long based on the last time she had cared to measure herself, with legs as thick as tree trunks and a tail even more so before it tapered down to a sharpened point. Her neck was easily a quarter of her full length, tail at least a half, and when she lay herself down with wings outspread she could wrap all about herself from the tip of her tail to her snout, her eyes staring down at black scales and hardened scutes.

Black; dark and black as night, black as pitch, black as the coal veins that she had bathed and played in as a hatchling. Her armor shimmered and reflected with the odd light of the crustal up above, soft blue and green bouncing off the oil slick of her hide. Her eyes, trained to the dark and sparkling from within by hidden fire, were currently trained on one thing and one thing only, her attention on only one part of her vast hoard.

The dress.

_ The _ dress.

The same dress that she had been wearing during the recent outing to Diagon Alley, the same dress that she had worn all that day, the same dress that had suddenly been  _ different _ when she paused to notice on her return.

There were only four dragons that occupied the home that Narcissa lived in; Lucius, Narcissa, their hatchling Draco, and herself. Usually. Whenever she could stand to be around them, that was. But as she had stepped on through their Floo entrance she had noticed the peculiar and slightly faint scent of  _ another _ dragon.

A fifth.

At first she had assumed that Narcissa had been hosting someone from the Clans while they were out, or maybe even an old friend or associate of Lucius’s. But the longer that she had walked around with her nose held high in the air, the quicker it had become clear to her that something was off.

The scent followed her.

From there it had been only a relatively short leap to realize-

The scent was on  _ her. _

A Dragon.

In Diagon Alley! Somehow a Dragon had wandered those streets and come close enough to touch her, and yet she hadn’t even noticed! And, as if to make matters even worse than they already were, the scent wasn’t  _ just _ another Dragon, oh no, it was a  _ Mate _ scent.

_ Her mate! _

Bellatrix relaxed into the rumble that filled her chest, fire peeking out from between her half-shut maw, the long stretches of her body rolling and turning until she was able to press her snout down against the thin black fabric of the dress. It was still there, that intensely cloying smell all sweet and wonderfully intoxicating, the smell that indicated that  _ this _ dragon was the one for her.

A flash of black lightning flowed through her entire form until she was reduced to something resembling a human more than dragon, naked except the scales covering portions of her skin and long black tail swishing out behind her. She was larger than a Human, slender and bespotted with scale and claw and fang, her three toed feet carrying her forward towards the center of her hoard with a single-minded passion that left her breathless in its wake. Bellatrix dropped down onto her knees, scales and skin aching from the multitude of items pressed up beneath her, her hands wrapping up and around the silken dress as she brought it forward to press against her chest and face.

The Forest, Evergreens, the ashen scent of a well burning fire and the aged musk of old books, quiet corners; all of it filled her up with a heady breath that left her panting, wanting and confused.

Wanting; for completion.

Confused; for this Dragon was still young and unknown, the sweetness of youth all wrapped up and around each portion of her scent.

And it  _ was _ a her, a confirmation towards what she had felt ever since she had been a hatchling, the last and most endearing  _ ‘Fuck you,’ _ to the decrepit bastard that her father had become. Bellatrix smiled down into the fabric as her body swayed side to side, her long talons delicately pulling and bunching the fraying bits of fabric into her balled fists as her heartbeat began to calm. Her chest rumbled through with a delicate purr, her emotions made manifest, the space surrounding where she sat beginning to heat along with her noticeably elated emotions.

“Ahem,” a delicate voice gruffed itself in announcement behind Bellatrix’s back, her head sprinting into surprise that had her turning about and holding dagger sharp talons just a few delicate millimeters from Narcissa’s face, her fangs bared in open aggression.

Her eyes narrowed, “Cissa.” Her voice had fallen into a groan that complied with all her instincts to  _ protect, _ to  _ hurt, _ her mind fighting itself for all of two seconds before reason claimed her and the fighting posture relaxed. “What do you want Cissa? You of all people know better than to surprise me, especially here of all places.”

“Yes, well… You see, you weren’t reacting when I called your name, and as much as I enjoy the sight of this place I’d much rather do it from the opposite shore. I couldn’t, so I’m here. Besides,” Narcissa twirled in place while she extended her palms and raised her head, “It’s not like anyone else would ever find you here, not with all this magic still in the air. You may have well just picked a fortress, this place is as good as any.”

Bellatrix ran the sweeping length of her black tail in patterns and loops across the ground, her face scrunched up as she looked for any reason to continue their words until it reached an argument. There weren’t any, not any obvious reasons at least, and prolonging the conversation to needle and belittle her little sister was an act she had (mostly) outgrown by the turn of the last century.

She turned around but tilted her head to speak over her shoulder, “Whatever. What is it you need? I come here for some peace and quiet, not meetings or catch-up.” Bellatrix sank down to her knees when she finished talking, her tail lodging itself amid the clattering of old portraits and goblets and treasures settling from her movements. Narcissa remained behind her but ever present, the younger Dragon maintaining just enough distance, making just enough noise, not to be lashed out at by her Elder.

“Lucius was looking for you. A parcel arrived with your name on it,” Narcissa’s voice floated out from the spaces between them, “The elves still have it but I figured that I’d look for you anyways.”

“If the elves can manage to take care of it then why look for me? I’m in no need of a sitter, and I haven’t needed one since I was a hatchling.”

Narcissa sighed as loudly and obnoxiously as she could before she dropped down to sit up against Bellatrix’s shoulder, her head resting lightly in the silence between them both.

Bellatrix waited a moment before turning to look at her younger sister, “So what do you want Cissa? I’m sure Luci or Andy could use your help more than me.”

Nacrissa shifted until she could lay a soft punch against her shoulder, twin blue eyes narrowing to a dangerous point, “What is that you makes you think I’d only search you out if I needed something? Can’t I just enjoy spending time with my sister?”

“You can,” Bellatrix swallowed back the rising guilt that Narcissa’s eyes were running her through, “Just not when I want to be left alone.”

Her sister huffed and shifted, “How am I supposed to know when that is? Hmm?” She shifted atop the mound of items until they were seated and facing one another, “You just run off, how am I supposed to know you’re not missing? Or hurt? Look Bella, I’m not asking much of you, I’d just like it if you’d let us know where you are, alright?”

Bellatrix groaned and rolled her eyes, weary but very aware of the reasoning behind her sister’s scrutiny and worry. After all, it wasn’t like the Purges would ever be forgotten, and a cautious over-compensation was the least she could expect.

Narcissa’s nose scrunched as she stood to her feet and crossed her arms around her chest, head tilting as she did so. She turned, seemed to peer all about the cave as Bellatrix felt the bottom of her heart fall right out.

“Is there another Dragon in here?”


	6. First Year; Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Half of Hermione's 1st Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. It's uh... Been a while.   
Let's just say my motivation took a hit, and it's been far harder to complete work than I would have hoped.   
If I'm lucky, that will be addressed soon and this (plus my other stories) will receive a quick boost in productivity. As it is, I won't promise when the next update will be.
> 
> Just know it's coming.
> 
> That said, here's the plan for Dragons, going forward.  
Hermione's years at school will be broken into three parts.  
One half of the year, followed by a chapter featuring our favorite Black Dragon, followed by the latter half of Hermione's year. 
> 
> At least, that'll stick until we reach a certain point in the narrative. 
> 
> Additionally, since in this world Voldemort never rose to power, we're going to see quite a few differences in canon going forward.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Hermione despised, absolutely and with no doubt at all in her mind, the one hour block she was dedicated to twice a week for lessons in Potions.

Her dislike of the class wasn’t mirrored at all in her other subjects; she just about loved every class, generally speaking. She cherished that lovely feeling of a strong textbook in her hands, the feel of good paper between her fingers, and found an extreme sort of happiness whenever the sound of a Professor’s praise managed to reach her ears. She quite especially loved it when she caught onto the lesson before anyone else and could perform the requested magic to a degree that no one had expected. Certainly, their looks when she mastered things was worth more to her than the dour slope of her Potions Professor’s nose.

That feeling of pride, of accomplishment? 

That recognition of her talent, and willingness to practice?

She  _ loved  _ it. So, so very much.

But Potions? An hour spent in the darkest and most damp portion of the Dungeons? With no sunlight, no trees, no fresh air at all?

Well.

She  _ hated _ it.

If there was anything at all that she could say she loved about the time spent in that classroom, it was her enjoyment whenever she had a chance to light a strong fire underneath the curved roll of her cauldron. She had been practising on her own during hours in the afternoon, or weekends where no one would bother her, and had decided to use her special little brand of fire for the task. Of course, with enough time and repetition, even that little bout of happiness had become stale and uninteresting. Though her flagging interest in the task was most certainly helped along by her Professor snapping at her whenever she used her hand to light the fire and not her wand like everyone else.

Hermione didn’t  _ want _ to be like everyone else. 

She  _ wanted _ to be Hermione Granger. She  _ wanted _ to enjoy her special little ability. Being like everyone else felt stupid; or wrong, or twisted around the most annoying of school-yard epithets. She had an aptitude, so why shouldn’t she train with it? Why shouldn’t she use it at every available opportunity? She had already demonstrated that she knew the fire-starting spell backwards and forwards, so why couldn’t she just use her own?

Heavens above, Professor Flitwick had already spoken with Professor Slughorn in private, to the tune of inviting her to private lessons.  _ Private lessons!  _ All to learn about and control her special ability until she had mastered it as well as a proper  _ Lumos.  _ But even that had seemed to set off her Head of House.

So in the interest of not bemoaning and entire discipline at the behest of a rather stuffy old man, Hermione would revise her opinion on the subject.

She didn’t hate Potions.

But she  _ did _ hate the man at the front of the classroom. She hated how he stared down at them, she hated how he singled her out, she hated out they were all treated as if they were still in  _ diapers. _

Which, if she were being fair, she also supposed that more than a few of her classmates should be in those. But she would never say that out loud, or anywhere not in the privacy of an empty room and her own head.

It just wasn’t polite.

However true it might have been.

She most certainly trusted in her own abilities and knowledge over the lacking qualities of her peers. Yes, they could mostly all get a spark to flick out from their wand and light the fire beneath their Cauldron. And usually, most of them were able to do it on the first try. But after having to watch Neville, of all people, cast an Everflame that quite incidentally lit his own robes aflame... Well.

She didn’t quite trust them all. Not yet, at least.

And none of that was to say that Neville was bad,  _ per se. _ He was just an overly nervous boy that was too wrapped around living up to his parent’s expectations, and far too inclined to forge on ahead without asking for any help. He certainly made up for that with his drive and determination; despite the fact that they were both from differing Houses, she could count him to be delightful and dogged company at any time.

Much the same as Luna.

Both of her newfound friends had been sorted off to Ravenclaw; a feat that had managed to leave most of the older students scratching their heads in wonder and surprise when Neville walked over to their table. Luna had been expected to join the House, just as her Mother and Father had, but Neville? Everyone in the Great Hall, it seemed, had been expecting that he would follow in his parent’s footsteps and enter Gryffindor.

But he hadn’t.

Not that it bothered Hermione at all.

Both of them had become rather fast friends after she found his Toad on the train, and Luna had quickly stepped forward to become a nigh permanent fixture in her life. Seeing as both the Ravens and the Snakes had their classes paired off together, Luna shared classes with her, as well as time away from learning. Reading through texts or studying in the Library, spending an hour eating their meals in the Great Hall, or roving all around Campus in an effort to ingest and memorize where everything was-

It was wonderful. So wonderful in fact, that Hermione had extended a permanent invitation for Luna to bother her within the confines of the Slytherin Common Room whenever she should like. Well, outside of classes that was.

It certainly appeared that no one else very much cared that Hermione was a Muggleborn hiding in the den of Snakes, or that Luna had shown up to follow wherever she went. Oh sure, there had been more than a few off-colour comments thrown out from some of the older boys, and every now and then she would get a horribly disconcerting glance by the boy with red eyes… But other than that?

Nothing.

Not that Hermione would complain about the silence. She was, after all, mostly left alone. Even when the school-day ended and Luna sequestered her off in a corner under the guise of needing help or study, she wouldn’t complain. Couldn’t, really, when Luna would give her constant scratches or caresses against the hard length of her ears. And yes, that bit was odd. Yes, it did not seem quite…  _ normal. _ But there were more than a few half-breed children attending the school, and each and every one of them had  _ some _ form of oddity that set them apart from the rest of the rabble.

But not one of them would trill when their ears were caressed, none of them would  _ purr _ when content as she did. None of them could hold bare fire in their hands, or watch as embers skittered across their skin. And she knew by now that none of them had such strong  _ urges _ as she sometimes did.

After all, she  _ had _ asked them.

But what did it all mean? She didn’t know.  _ Couldn’t know. _

But she did know that it wasn’t something she would ever find out from Potions classes.

So her next stop, of course, was Madam Pomfrey’s office. The Head Nurse was surprisingly difficult to pin down whenever a student wasn’t presenting there for obvious or fixable issues, swamped as she was with doling out healing potions and fix-its to all the new first-year students. So many of them had spent their lives in one place, with all the same people, only to now find themselves in an environment they weren’t ready for. Only a few short weeks had passed since the start of term, and already it seemed almost everyone was as sick as a dog.

But not Hermione. Nor the boy with red eyes, now that she thought about it.

It took Hermione over a week before she could manage to track down the older woman and confront her over the peculiarity that was her ears. Unfortunately, the only thing the matronly woman could tell Hermione was that she would have far more luck if she read down her family ancestry, instead of asking a rather chronically overworked school official for a non-professional assessment. The only thing that Pomfrey  _ could _ assess was that Hermione’s ears were particularly Elven in appearance. That little similarity would warrant inclusion among the Fae at some point in her history, either spurred on by someone in her lineage mating with a House Elf, or a High Elf. Though since the latter hadn’t been seen in over six centuries and the former was  _ problematic, _ at best…

Well. The chances of that being her lineage were certainly quite low. Which meant that unfortunately all of Pomfrey’s advice was really quite useless.

Hermione  _ was _ adopted, after all. And while her parents had never once shamed her for that fact, and had instead made every effort in determining her actual lineage, no inquiries had ever once fruited. Her biological kin were all just…

Gone.

And although she was aware that Gringotts would perform an Inheritance Test for her, she had no idea just how to go about that. How would she even pay for it? Her parents might have made decent money, but she doubted that it would be enough to cover whatever the Goblins would ask.

Useless, the lot of it.

Much like the current lesson plan that she was suffering through for her Potions class. Her stuffy Head of House had gathered them all together to attempt the mastery of a tincture that could preserve plant leaves once plucked and pressed. The ultimate goal of their potion, as Hermione had sussed out after spending five minutes listening to Professor Slughorn denigrate Pansy Parkinson’s complete lack of attention for the second time in as many classes, was to keep their ingredients as fresh and viable for use in further potions as if they had all plucked them that very morning.

Or at least Professor Slughorn was  _ attempting _ to get them all to master it. In actuality, he was failing, to Hermione’s rather unhindered delight and satisfaction.

It wasn’t that Professor Slughorn wasn’t smart, or anything at all like that. Her Head of House was probably one of the most singularly accomplished Potions Master’s alive, in Britain and beyond. Even Neville had been impressed that he was their teacher, and had attempted to instil that sort of wonder and reverence to her during their first class. The old man had credentials that could knock someone out; three different Masteries, forty years of experience, and a knowledge base that was so wide it might as well have been an ocean.

What he lacked, however, was any experience at all in dealing with children. He seemed to be preternaturally unable to make headway with them all and had instead resorted to teaching with a snappish attitude that was burdened by an annoyingly by-the-book approach. But then again all of this was her own opinion, informed only by a few dozen classes with him. Who was she to judge? It wasn’t as if she had the greatest pool of experience to draw from after all. 

She knew so very little about a great many things. And it peeved her to no end.

Trips to the library had elucidated her on many of the various intricacies surrounding those topics not covered during their History of Magicks Class, and her newfound friends had made sure to help her along as well as they could. Neville had immediately stepped up to help her with the broader reasonings behind certain uprisings that occurred in the past, as well as the miasma that was Pureblood Politics. Luna had joined at his side to pass on the societal customs she should be learning to follow, and all the varied histories surrounding the Most Noble and Ancient Houses that weren’t covered in any of their textbooks.

Histories of Customs, of Ethics and Culture; all of it meted out with soft words and firm handwriting by her two favourite tutors. Even though Hermione was at this moment their only pupil, both Luna and Neville had sat down to think up and prepare everything that she should know. Soon enough she was at least  _ learning _ of the world she had been excluded from since birth.

Soon enough she was happy.

It certainly made up for intensely annoying lessons taught by a grumpy old dunderhead of a man who would rather have been teaching alchemical theory to seventh years than babysit a group of eleven-year-olds as they fiddled about with the most basic of potions.

And so Hermione continued on with hating it, just as she continued on with loving everything else.

\---

Despite all the many things that Hermione had come to love about school, there was one thing she despised more than her Potions lessons.

Flying.

Oh by all the varied Gods that her new friends swore to, she  _ hated _ it.

Her first few moments in the air had nearly led to her spilling the lunch she had only just eaten all over the ground. It didn’t help matters that once the broom was situated right, it moved all on its own. A living thing, bucking and rolling, tilting over until she had just about risen up and careened back down to earth as a pile of jelly instead of a little girl.

Thinly sliced salmon on a hunk of rye bread, a handful of red grapes and a cup of ice-cold apple juice. 

She  _ desperately _ wanted to keep all that inside her stomach, thank you very much.

But her broom seemed to have  _ other _ ideas.

Luck only fell once her body was safely on solid ground, a dry gag and green pallor being the only effects of her lurch into the air. She steadied her breath, pressed clean hands into the dirt and grass at her feet, and slowly calmed the frenzied beating of her heart while the broom rose again to stay awkwardly by her side.

_ Never. Ever. Again. _

People were  _ not _ meant to fly like that. With wings? As a bird?  _ Sure. _ That would likely be peachy even, she thought. But with this wooden implement and no surefire way to control it?

Hermione marched off towards the line of already finished riders once she was sure she could do so without falling over, content in the thought that if Professor Hooch asked her, she would manage at least a few meters off the ground. Beyond that? No more. Besides, it certainly seemed as if this whole class period was more a joke than anything, and if she were lucky than the subject of her riding a broom would never come up again.

…

Right?

“Oy, looky here at what Neville’s got, eh?”

The voice that rose above the murmur of students talking was rather annoying in its tone. Whiny, almost. Which in this instance, with these students, meant one thing, and one thing only.

Draco.

“Give it here, Hardbottom!” Draco dashed from where he stood two students down from Hermione’s side, and off towards where Neville stood opposite their line. At first, Hermione wasn’t quite sure what was happening; certainly, it didn’t seem that Neville had gone out of his way to make a target of himself. But then she too managed to catch sight of what held Draco’s attention, just as Neville moved to stash it within an expanded pocket of his robes.

Something, small and nearly unnoticeable, sparked within Hermione’s mind.

_ Shiny. _

Not so much that it seemed like metal, but just enough to catch her attention as litter and detritus attracted ravens or crows. A ball? A sphere? Glass, it seemed at least. Or something quite like it, judging by the opaque way that it glittered when Draco reached into the pocket to snatch it away.

“Give it back here,” Neville swung out a hand as fast as he could, only just barely missing Draco as he held it. “That’s  _ mine,  _ Malfoy. Now give it back.”

“No,” Draco stepped back and juggled the item between his hands, “I don’t think I will, Hardbottom.”

Hermione watched the exchange with anger slowly rising, higher and higher as Malfoy moved to hold the orb just barely out of Neville’s reach. Neville himself wasn’t slow, or short, but Malfoy was taller than most others their age and able to move far quicker; ducking and twirling away just quick enough to evade Neville’s grasp at every moment.

_ ‘This is ridiculous,’ _ stewed Hermione, temper still rising with every second. Draco usually wasn’t this much of an arse; despite the rather cold reception that she had on the train, he was generally quiet and polite. Sure, he could be shrewd, he could even be downright annoying. But mostly he just…  _ existed, _ somewhere along the periphery.

But this?

This display was just beyond the pale.

“Draco stop it this instant!” Hermione cried out, aware that more and more students were slowly being drawn into the fray. She could feel a fire lit beneath her skin, a steady pulse of magic pooling from her heart and into her fists as drips and splashes of errant embers began to cool on their descent towards the ground. Her little display wasn’t enough to really harm anyone, nor was it bright enough with all the light outside for any of her fellow students to really notice, but it was far more than enough for Hermione to come to the realization that she was well and truly  _ upset _ at Draco’s actions.

_ Hurt, _ even.

It was  _ wrong, _ what Draco was doing. And she did  _ not _ like it one bit.

“Oh, and what’ll you do if I don’t, huh, Mudblood?” Draco’s sneer was evident in his words, in his eyes as he peered over at her with what seemed to be his first hint of actual malice. The slur was…  _ unusual, _ to Hermione, foreign as it was. But the energy? The emotion behind it? 

That wasn’t foreign.

And  _ that _ wouldn’t be tolerated.

The slap rang out across the small but open patch of grass that they had all been brought out to practice on, a loud and cracking sound that seemed to grow louder even as it faded into an echo.

_ ‘Oh no.’ _

\---

“Professor, I didn’t mean-”

_ “She  _ started it-”

“-no,  _ I  _ didn’t! You stole-”

“-if you hadn’t-”

_ “Enough!!” _

Hermione hurriedly bit back all the words that were still just barely hanging against the edges of her lips, mind caught up in fresh anger and body practically  _ vibrating _ with the force of the effort. 

Professor Slughorn  _ was _ physically vibrating, as much as Hermione could see. Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, seemed to be just and still and calm as a dormouse.

“Hermione, please, what happened?” Professor Flitwick asked the question, his own hand slowly placed atop Professor Slughorn’s shaking fist.

Hermione grounded herself, curled her hands into fists, and dragged in a heaping lungful of air, “We were waiting on Professor Hooch to come back over when Draco snatched Neville’s  _ Forget-Me-Not, _ and he wouldn’t give it back. I asked him to stop taunting Neville, and then Draco called me a Mudblood.” She stopped at that to regain control of her breath, anger once again beating fiercely in her heart as she looked over at Draco with undisguised hurt in her eyes. “After he said that, I stepped forward and slapped him.”

“And is this all true, Mr. Malfoy?” Slughorn had one of his caterpillar eyebrows raised up, hands both shoved down into the pockets of his robes and suspicion evident in his harsh glare.

“Yes sir,” Draco replied, his voice quiet and even. His eyes and face were downcast towards the floor, and both his hands clasped in front of himself. For all that had happened since their Flying Lesson, and the harshness of their words not even seconds ago, he seemed to have come around to being quite contrite about the whole matter. 

It was an oddity, for sure. One that Hermione would  _ love _ to follow up on later, but only  _ after _ she received whatever punishment was surely coming her way.

“Well then. I think we’ve gotten to the root of the issue, and the truth of it as well. Twenty points will be taken from Slytherin for your actions, Mr. Malfoy. Ten for stealing, and ten for using a slur against another student.” 

Flitwick, who had been nodding along to Slughorn’s proclamation, brought his wand out and tapped into the nothingness that seemed to control the Hogwarts Points System.

The small Professor finished his wand movements with a distinguished flourish before turning towards where Hermione stood, “And I shall award twenty points to Slytherin for Ms. Granger’s selfless act to stand up for one of my own students. Thank you very much for looking out for Neville, and I’m sure that he greatly appreciates what you did for him.” Flitwick repeated his wand movements, in the opposite direction this time, his face beaming at Hermione as he did so.

_ ‘This… what?’ _

This was not at all what she had been expecting. No, she had been so sure she would be condemned for her action; striking another student was hardly appropriate behaviour for a student, regardless of the reasoning.

… Right?

\---

There wasn’t very much that Hermione could say about the time that led before her first Holiday of the year. Or, more to the point, she rather lacked the words to describe it.

At first, everything had seemed normal, if quiet. And then, halfway up the stairwell that led away from the Dungeons, everything changed. In the blink of an eye, there was tinsel flowing around and hanging itself off handrails and stonework. Trees sprung up with great puffs of pine-needle at every corner and intersection, false snow sprinkling down from somewhere near the ceiling. Even the Great Hall managed to get in on the action; the night before it was just as plain as usual, and then the next morning it was strung up into one giant length of festivity and cheer. 

Yule time was upon them. 

Truly it was quite a marked difference from what she had assumed a Wizarding Christmas would be, but it was quite delightful all the same. Hermione stared about in wonder and joy until slowly the change became less daunting, less new. Within a few days, she had settled into an appropriate amount of cheer, ready and willing to incorporate the new Holiday into being. Neville and Luna both helped her along by pulling her aside one afternoon during their tutoring sessions, in a bid to better educate her.

While the name was different, much of what would happen or be celebrated was similar to the more Muggle traditions, even if only tangentially, and separated from major Muggle religions.

Yule time was a period of thanks and praise for the coming new year; a moment that all could join in respite to eat with good friends, spend time with family, and celebrate all varieties of life with whoever was around them. Many families that practised Yule all held to older traditions that involved rituals for good luck, and plentiful lives. While it turned out that most of Luna’s family abstained from those rituals, Neville’s did not, and during spare moments of his free time he dedicated himself to passing down those lesser rituals to which he had access or knowledge of. It was a gift, he had said, in return for her help with Draco.

It was wonderful, and one of the most thoughtful gifts that she could have received from her new friends.

Or it was, until Luna one-upped him in one swoop.

The younger girl had continued to be a near-constant presence in her life, almost seeming glued to her side as the year pressed on. Throughout every day, almost every hour beside the ones where they couldn’t be in the same place, Luna was never too far away. One morning, just around a week before they were all scheduled to depart back to their homes, Luna approached her with blatant excitement in her silvered eyes.

The blonde had fawned and shivered in anticipation as she seemed to sway from side to side, passing off a slip of white parchment that was sealed around with silvered wax and a light blue ribbon. 

“Here you are,” Luna burst out, thrusting the slip forward and clasping Hermione’s hands around the outside, “My Mother and I made this for you. And before you say anything, you needn’t say yes to it. If you don’t, I’ll be fine, no worries. But, well, I thought that you might rather appreciate spending your first Yule with a few witches and wizards. At least once, I mean. Merlin knows I don’t know how you’re used to spending the Holidays, but I can show you everything about how we do!”

Luna’s smile was infectious, so much so that Hermione could feel a grin plastered to her face when her friend finished speaking. 

It grew even more when Luna screamed in joy at Hermione’s swift acceptance of the offer.

Luna? Asking for  _ her  _ to join them for Yule?

It was wonderful.

Amazing, even.

_ Fantastic! _

So much so that during the few hours left before lights out, Hermione found herself wedged atop the chaise lounge in the Slytherin Common Room with her head in Luna’s lap and a book discarded on the floor. Luna was spending the quiet moment reading something for a class before the year ended, and absentmindedly rolling her fingers over the shell of Hermione’s pointed ears.

The combination of comfort, security, and the levity from being asked to join her earlier that day, led Hermione into a deep and dream-filled sleep spurred on by her mind turning happily at such good luck.

She was  _ happy. _


	7. The First Yule: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited
> 
> Narcissa chap, with a heap of intrigue and Bellatrix.

The first rays of sunlight were filtering out across the distant horizon, shadows and beams of light obscured by clouds, waves that rolled and tipped in high peaks. Bellatrix yawned into the beauty of it, her teeth all glistening daggers and breath steaming through the chill of the air. There were many reasons for her to live along the coast but mornings such as this one were a high point. All around her fell seaspray, the wind a crisscross pattern that buffeted against the sheer cliffs and gathered with it the salt and chill of early dawn. With little effort she spread her mighty wings, muscles flexing and tendons stretching taut, the billowing sound of air scooped down and pushed away filling her ears as she made to fly.

The poor remnants of her feeding - _ once a massive sea-serpent that had wandered in too close to her keep and now a remnant, its blue scales brittle and dull beneath the might of claw and fire _ \- sloughed off her chosen ridgeline and fell back into the ocean. Sharks - _ alerted promptly by the scent of blood and terror, all too willing to take part in scooping in the last dredges of what once had been a terror to them _ \- had gathered and pulled the bits apart, frothed the water and sprayed the air with blood in her honour. 

Bellatrix flew higher into the dawn, the sight below her falling away to reveal cloud banks that seemed to comfort her, a chill against her scales and the early sunlight lending warmth to the black tips and glittering majesty that was her form. 

She’d timed this right. Narcissa was waiting on her and while Bellatrix knew it was best not to delay she also knew to arrive later than most. It would save her the hassle of dealing with guests and if she happened to be lucky then there would be food prepared already. Andromeda was much, much better at dealing with their family and Bellatrix felt she couldn’t do it without a full belly and something strong to drink.

She had a secret to reveal. She knew it would go over better if she were plastered during the revelation.

\---

A massive fire was burning in the heart of Malfoy Manor, great and billowing. It took up the whole of a modified room, the space having been prepared just for this moment and now that it was ready it was being put to good use. The flames were buoyed by the breath of dragons, the air was sucked in from the hall and opened windows. Great heaps of smoke billowed up a chimney and out into the air outside while the smell of smoking meat and spitting fat had robbed the space of anything resembling tact or rich appeal. 

The family gathered on the grounds could all smell it, and none of them could contain the enthusiasm bursting beneath their chests.

Narcissa _lived _for moments such as these.

Since she and her family had come down off their chosen mountain home they’d remained mostly apart, separate and distinct. There were never too many of them in one location at a time and whenever they did choose to gather it could end just as swiftly as it’d begun. To _finally _have their family back together - _ their home filled up with relatives and friends _ \- was such a rare sight that Narcissa could do nothing other than enjoy it. It could happen once a year but she treasured it as if it was a once in a lifetime event.

Andromeda had brought her little family along; little Nymph - _ not so very little anymore, the older girl was testing out the beautiful hues of her wings (a sight that made Narcissa froth with envy, a yearning for wings of her own when she was small and more human-shaped, a feat reserved for half-bloods and a few pure-blooded species) - _ was wandering the halls and hills outside, teasing Draco about his time in Hogwarts and spreading good cheer in the only way she knew how. Narcissa knew that by the day's end she would have to patch up dozens of little items that the drakeling had knocked apart with her tail and she wouldn’t have it any other way - _ even if it did get old sometimes _ \- no matter how much she complained to Andromeda. Theodore had come along and was making as much headway as he could in the fight to earn Lucius’s approval - _ it wouldn’t be much, she knew that, but his mind was sharp and the things he wanted Lucius to look at and invest in were amazing, little trinkets and baubles and ideas that could do wonders for their Gringotts accounts (and by all the heavens did Lucius respond to _**_that_ ** _ ) - _and genuinely enjoying himself despite the barrier of their species. He was sneaking bites of food, cooked meats from a half-dozen different countries and complimenting everyone on the taste.

Sirius had decided to come down from whatever home he’d been hiding away in for the year and with his arrival he brought stories, tales and little bits of intrigue that roped everyone into his ridiculous yarns. Alphard was listening to each and laughing heartily, his grin just a bit too big to be genuine but Narcissa wasn’t one to pry. Even old Aunt Cass had decided to join them for the time being, her dress and manner more befitting someone from a couple of centuries ago - _ or more _ \- but welcome enough that she fit right in. There were other members of their extended family as well, some she knew and some she only half-remembered.

Little Regulus had grown up into a fine young dragon, his long hair combed back and scales shimmering with a coal-black sheen. His mind was on other pursuits - _ Narcissa believed it to mostly be his beginning clutch all the way back in France _ \- but he was here with them in presence and spirit and that was what Narcissa cherished most. Even Rosalie Malfoy - _ the much-beloved but hardly seen sister to her husband Lucius, a matriarch of her own den and far more circumspect in her love of all things shiny _ \- had made a pitstop on her journey to the Americas, and with her she’d brought cousins and children and who knew what else.

She most definitely had brought food, two large cows clutched expertly in her talons and a mouth filled with jewellery as a gift for Lucius and Narcissa. She explained that she couldn’t remain for long - _ she had a reason to get to Ireland by the next morning, something about business and acquisitions that had Narcissa confused more than informed _ \- but would make an exception for her clutchmate, the perfect counterpoint to Lucius’s far more stuffy demeanour.

The only one that was missing was Bellatrix and Narcissa had no doubt at all that about when her sister would show up. She’d been giving Bellatrix hell for missing out on the festivities for the past few years and she hoped - _ fervently, and with a frothing madness that frightened Lucius at times _ \- that her elder sibling wouldn’t slight them this time. 

So very many of their brood were gone, their ancestors back into the skies forevermore or friends and family off toward lands and haunts where humans could never find them. To have any number of them in attendance was a boon to her spirits, a miracle she treasured, and the sight of her little dragon getting to meet all of them brought tears to her blue eyes, a balm to her aching heart.

Minutes rolled over into hours and now that most everyone had - _ generally, at least _ \- begun to settle in she stepped outside the door of their little kitchen and watched while Lucius and Sirius took their turns at cooking their feast. The two massive Holstein cows that Rosalie had brought were layered between a trio of fattened pigs, the spits rolling them along and the low but steady heat of the fires leaving drippings and smells that made her salivate, teeth gnashing in anticipation of digging in. Ash from burning wood and coal was gathering upon her dress - _ the winds bolstered by constant streams of fire _ \- and coalescing on the ground, a snowdrift indoors and one she much preferred to the icy chill of winter.

“Mother,” came a small voice that instantly brought a smile to Narcissa’s face. She turned and kneeled before Draco as he said, “Aunt Bella’s here.”

Narcissa smiled and ruffled his hair, the squint and half-smirk of a child old enough to think they were too grown-up for cute acts such as this appearing on his face. She stood and wandered out, thanked Draco for informing her and moved with swiftness towards the front of the manor. Her heels clacked steady on the wooden floor - _ decorum came now, the moment for releasing anything _**_human_ **_came later _ \- and Draco moved swiftly behind her, sharpened claws biting into the meat of her palms.

When she arrived outside she saw that Draco had been correct; there was a massive black dragon circling high above them all and Narcissa knew on sight - _ even far away as this _ \- that it was her elder sister.

The snow around them was wafting into the air as the dragon descended, gleaming crystals scattered about with the ferocity of her wingbeats until, soon enough, a bloom of brilliant fire laced from dragon to ground in an effort to clear the space for landing. Bellatrix shuddered the earth as she landed, a ferocious roar erupting from her chest in a heavy tone that had Narcissa’s bones vibrating as it echoed into the distance. In the blink of an eye Bellatrix had shifted back towards a much more human form, her long black tail swishing behind her and a summoned cloak of deep black settling atop her body. The silk was so thin that it rose with the wind but so pitch black that it lost shape, and Narcissa wondered idly for a moment on where Bellatrix had learned that little trick.

“Draco!” Bellatrix yelled, kneeling down to scoop up the young boy into her arms, exclamations of happiness barreling from both their chests.

Narcissa watched them both for a moment - _ a genuine smile on her face _ \- and then made her way back indoors, her own tail curving paths into the snowdrifts and curling along the edges of the doorways, counting the bannisters as she ascended the massive staircase in the entrance room. She moved towards voices and soon enough she could distinctly make out the arguing tones of her other sibling in an animated discussion with Alphard.

“Oh for the love of Morgana- Look you old coot, if I have to beat this into your skull I will. You do _not _use blooming cereus unless you wanted to end up pink for a whole bloody week. I mean seriously, why would you ever want that? I bet you’d even think a durian would be good in a cocktail.” Andromeda admonished Alphard with a sharp tongue and gave Narcissa an even sharper smile when she wandered in.

“Well, what’re you two babbling on about?” Narcissa asked, taking up a spot in a lone chair and summoning herself a well-filled glass of wine that had sat upon the table.

Alphard cleared his throat, “It’s not a babble dearest niece, it’s-”

“Oh piss off,” Andromeda interrupted him, hand waving lazily as she did so. “It’s a babble. Look, Cissa, Alphard is hosting a delegation of Albanian Woodhide’s in a month. He’s decided that _he’s _the one to procure food and drink. And _ apparently _ he also thinks that-”

“No, no, no,” Alphard butted in, leaning forward animatedly and waving his arms about. “Look, I don’t _think, _ I _ read. _ I don’t _suppose, _ I _ know. _ And I wanted to _ know _ so I asked your opinion, that was all!”

Andromeda ratcheted up her voice in response, “If you weren’t _thinking _of using it then you’d have _asked _and I wouldn’t have had to drag it out of you, Uncle. Why would you offer them such a frivolous drink at a time like this? It should be all mourning, or no mourning. There isn’t an in-between!”

Narcissa let the two of them argue it out for a minute more - _ it was all in good nature of course, she’d never let actual anger live beneath her roof and Alphard was always the favoured Uncle _ \- and settled into her drink. By the time the two had tuckered out her glass was empty - _ and refilled _ \- and they’d resumed sitting in silence while nursing their own drinks.

“So, Uncle Alphard, why exactly are you hosting a delegation of Albanian Woodhides, and why am I apparently the last to know?” Narcissa downed her glass, pulled back another.

“Because like it or not Orion’s death has left me in charge so far as the humans are all concerned. That means I have certain expectations to live up to, and certain clans hold to the human way of things more so than our own designs. The Clan wants a meeting, the rest of the Clans want meetings within a year, I need to suss them out. And there’s the rather small note of Hecate having been found.”

Narcissa felt the blood drain out from her already too pale face, watched as Alphard - _ so very much the spitting image of Sirius (except grey) that she couldn’t help but wonder if Walburga had seen something in him that she hadn’t in Orion _ \- paled the same in response.

“Where?” she asked, her voice tense and suddenly far, far more on edge than she wanted it to be.

The old dragon growled, “With the fucking wizards, where else? Off in Diagon. Before you ask me, no, it wasn’t voluntary. All they found was her bloody _ head.” _

As Alphard slammed back his tumbler and summoned another one Narcissa dropped her own glass. The shimmering crystal was saved from a grisly end by the timely intervention of Andromeda, her own face a mask of horror to match Narcissa’s.

Narcissa felt lost, adrift in space and time. When the news of the matriarch’s disappearance had first met their ears almost a decade ago she’d scoffed. There had been speculation of course but the easy answer was that she’d left for another land, settled into starting up a new branch of her family after the last had been ruined. A clutch destroyed by a reckless act of human cruelty, a life born anew elsewhere. They’d all thought she was _alive, _ not dead, flying high above the mountaintops and soaring through the sky far from where she’d been hurt.

Not dead, never dead. There were so few of them remaining now - _ so few true matriarchs, patriarchs and Heads, Lords and Ladies and those who’d brought themselves up from nothing, tooth and claw bringing them from _**_nothing_ **_and into the light, shaping their world and bringing with it progress _ \- that the thought of their loss was an unconscionable sin, the act itself a bare sacrilege. It was infuriating, _ burning. _ This was the result of being hunted, of being torn apart for the crime of being powerful.

“Do you have any leads?” she settled on asking, the wine by now forgotten and Andromeda nudging her over while draping a steady arm across her shoulders. Her tail lashed at the ground, whipped into a frenzy and acting on its own accord, the presence of Andromeda only working to barely slow it down.

Alphard shook his head and looked down into his glass, “No, none yet. The wizard that had her head had been befuddled at some point. It was a condition of his purchase. He knew he’d gotten it and what he’d paid for it but the memory of _who _had sold it was gone. The dating shows that she died about a year after her clutch was destroyed. She was divided up, we think. The rest of her clan will be holding funerary rites for her and the children that she lost. And before you go spreading it, this doesn’t leave this room. I’ve not been given leave to tell anyone and I’m only letting you two know because I trust you.”

“Do you have any word on the missing egg?” Andromeda asked, squeezing Narcissa tighter to her.

It was a well-known fact that there had been a night now long ago where Hecate’s clutch had been invaded. The grouping had been taken from her; six eggs were destroyed in the mayhem and a seventh one was stolen away in an act of hostile magic, disappeared into nothingness and gone forever. The wizard thought responsible had been burned alive, most likely, dead and gone or disappeared into an infinity that was the same.

Alphard shook his head, “Again, no. The Clan wants to leave Albania. You can imagine the undertaking that’ll be, a whole Clan up and moving to somewhere no others are living? They want a small moment to hold rites, and then a full meeting in two years. They need to find somewhere to go. Too many bad memories and no one left to take the reigns. I think they’ve all been holding out hope that she’d simply run off with the remaining child, that maybe she’d return with them and usher in a new age. But she didn’t, and so they’re done. Through. None of them feel comfortable there anymore and I’m of a like mind to agree that it’s for the best. Even if there were any breeding pairs left they can’t remain now, some humans knowing where they were means that they aren’t safe, clutch or no. They’ve hired an intermediary, some bloke by the name of Weasley-”

Narcissa snorted, her derision evident at the name as she spat out, “Oh really, have they? That boy has some big shoes to fill. Ambassador and he’s what, twenty? Twenty-two?”

“Twenty-five, I think.” Alphard downed a swig of his glass, “But he’s been in training for years. He’s sworn to secrecy and he started his apprenticeship at Hogwarts. I’d have thought your opinion of him would be higher, what with having little Draco attend.”

At the mention of her son the miserable emotional state that Narcissa had been thrown into exploded, the worry over Hecate’s lost clutch co-mingling with her own worry over Draco. She let out a feral growl filled with warning and heat, sharp teeth on display and fire spitting from her palms.

Narcissa rounded on the older dragon, her eyes filled with malice and tone razor-sharp, “Don’t make light of his decisions Alphard. And yes, it’s his. Not mine, not Lucius. _ His. _ Do you think that I enjoy having my baby boy away for most of the year? Do you think I enjoy letting him cohabitate with _humans? _ It bloody terrifies me every second that he’s away, it terrifies that they could catch on, could _know. _ I know what Hogwarts is better than most, I did my history and I’m still worried for his safety. The things that they’d do to him if they found out, I’d burn the world to ashes if they threatened a single hair on his head. But it’s what _he _wants, and I’m willing to let him have that decision. Do not mistake my acceptance of his wishes as _ acceptance _ of where he’s at.”

When Narcissa’s voice trailed off into a growl she turned and looked from the window of the study and out onto the grounds. A startlingly white dragon was taking flight, a massive black dragon shepherding its movements. Bellatrix swooped, moved carefully, evaded and led her little boy in laps and loops. They twisted, dived, rushed towards the ground in imitation of the hunting displays they’d used back before imitating humans was possible. They were moves that Bellatrix still practised, far too proud to admit that she did so more to keep the memory alive than feed herself.

“Offer them our condolences, Alphard. All of us. Tell them that if they need help, whether it be with relocation, food, or to look for the missing child. Tell them they have it all.”

With that Narcissa left, her heels harsh against the ground and fire still dripping from her palms. Embers skittered along the ground, flowed down her dress and fell away harmlessly into nothing.

Alphard leaned back and looked forlornly at his glass, “Well, bugger. She really is a Blackhide.”

\---

Festivities began not too long after Narcissa stormed away, her human clothes shed in favour of scale and skin, a release of power and energy that left her feeling clear-headed after being so angry. The meat was brought outside, a fire started in a pit. Chairs were drawn up with magic and slowly the evening turned.

The news might have brought her low but this buoyed up her spirits. The presence of family raised her, or at least it gave enough of the impression that she could manage without setting someone aflame. Lucius had cornered her and given his condolences when she’d given him the news, and offered to whip Alphard’s hide should he so much as besmirch Draco’s name again. It was an offer Narcissa greatly appreciated but turned down, politely refusing with a kiss. From there they’d moved onto eating their little feast, roasted animals spread around so each of them could tear off what they wanted and drinks flowing with no end.

It was only then - _ when she was settled and warm, meat in her belly and more than a few stiff glasses of Elvish whisky to comfort her _ \- that Bellatrix sought to speak to her, to corner her and talk.

“What do you want?” Narcissa asked, slouching back further into her seat and aiming her feet closer to the bonfire. They’d eaten their fill and were swiftly approaching the hour for rituals and bindings, blessings and bloodlettings to sanctify the new year. The grass was comfortable beneath her feet now that the snow had melted away and the cold wind blowing from the south was enough to bring a soothing - _ if brisk _ \- chill to her overheated scales.

The chairs had been specially carved out to allow their more inhuman proportions space, and Ted had transfigured the chair Andromeda had brought him into something more normal for his stature. Andromeda was now laying halfway on Ted, halfway on the ground, her sparkling scales glittering in the firelight and tail languidly swishing against the ground. Nymph was happily roaming from family member to family member, her cup of mead overflowing and wings retracted to make movement easier. Her tail was out, however, swishing across the grass and barely holding back from smacking into faces as it reacted to her cheer.

It was cute, Narcissa concluded, and she smiled at the sight. Nymph was different from them but better in other ways, stronger and more dignified for having to straddle both worlds. She was quite happy that the little tyke she’d picked from amid eggshells was now comfortable in her own scales, unafraid at being here amid them even if she wasn’t a pure-blooded dragon.

Draco was off with Lucius, looking as dignified as he could be and mimicking the expressions of his father - _ even though Lucius was smiling and beaming whenever Draco wasn’t looking _ \- with a seriousness that left mirth flowing from Narcissa’s heart.

The Clan had settled, all except for Bellatrix.

“Sister dearest,” Bellatrix began, her voice loose and tone quite chipper. “I have some news.”

Narcissa squinted up at her and then relented, relaxed against the beat of the fire and nodded to let Bellatrix have her say.

“There’s someone at Hogwarts.”

Narcissa snorted, “Yes, generally there are many someone’s at a school. More than one usually, sometimes more than three!”

“Oh hush,” Bellatrix admonished her and shoved playfully at her shoulder. She moved close, pushed Narcissa away and fell down into the chair beside her, “My mate is at Hogwarts.”

Narcissa - _ far too relaxed from good food and company to truly reign herself in _ \- let loose a giggle and swatted at Bellatrix’s tail.

“Cissa, I’m being serious. I can smell them on Draco, I smelled them in Diagon not too long before his term started. It’s someone he’s recently interacted with, he’s been home all of what, three days?”

Narcissa attempted - _ in vain _ \- to collect herself, found that she couldn’t and settled instead for sliding from the chair, her body a loose heap as she held onto Bellatrix’s tail.

“Oh, is that so? Bellatrix Black, never to be mated, has finally found her mate.” Narcissa flicked a nail at the hard scale and sharp tips of Bellatrix’s tail, laughing again.

Bellatrix growled in reply, “Yes, she is. I’m certain of it.”

“Oh, and it’s _she _as well? I see.” Narcissa pulled Bellatrix down and whispered between giggles, “Well, here’s to you finding her.”

“Oh, come on! This isn’t a laughing matter, Cissa. Do you know of any other dragons at Hogwarts? Any at all besides Draco? I don’t. I can’t think of any and so far as I can tell no one else can either. Who would be there, at that school but hidden? Who would be there, _ alone, _ not under anyone’s protection?”

The words - _ and logic _ \- managed to temporarily sober up Narcissa. The thoughts were poking through the thin film of her buzz and settling down atop her mind as she rolled Bellatrix’s words in her whisky-infused head. 

“Well,” Narcissa leaned in, stroking the length of Bellatrix’s ear and giggling when her eldest sibling began to - _ begrudgingly _ \- purr. “If it’s who you’re intoning then we best find her, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Bellamione? https://discord.gg/pcfMU4F come on in and join the server!


	8. The First Yule: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited
> 
> This is just fluff because goddammit I wanted fluff

Hermione climbed down from the attic space of the Lovegood Observatory and nearly fell as she did so. It took her a second or more to gather back all her lost bearings but eventually the task was in order and she stood there, wobbling side to side as she did so. The effort proved fruitful though, and with nary a second wasted she came back to herself, balance and all.

The Observatory was a lighthouse and a lookout, it was a bastion of knowledge - _ some of it forbidden, some of it just lost to time and rot _ \- and a physical location that lacked some peculiar corporeal qualities.

Hermione _loved _it.

Her parents had both signed off on this little adventure to the wider world - _ her Mother shedding tears at the thought of her daughter growing up, making friends and fitting in, the emotions wringing salt from her eyes also leaving her proud beyond words _ \- and then when the term officially ended Hermione had gone off with Luna. The tall - _ and indescribably beautiful, gorgeous beyond words and shining in a way that twisted Hermione’s insides into living knots _ \- Ms Lovegood had been waiting for them both at the platform. A quick introduction had followed - _ one where Hermione had felt none of the awkwardness that she’d been expecting, Ms Lovegood (or Pandora, as she’d asked Hermione to refer to her as) was a near carbon-copy of Luna in both temperament and kindness _ \- and then they’d all set off for Luna’s home. When they had arrived Hermione had been shoved against the ground, patting herself off and rolling away from green dust and ashes. She’d managed to make herself somewhat presentable and then stood tall, raised up her chin, and stuck out her little hand to greet Luna’s father. Mr Lovegood - _ who had asked her to call him Xenophilius, or Xeno if she preferred _ \- shook her hand and then settled into an easy and amiable smile.

The Lovegood family as a whole were amazing. All of them kind, all of them gentle, all of them wonderful and inquisitive of everything they didn’t know - _ and many things they did, saying (with practised efficiency) that questions were the spice of life and that there was always more to learn _ \- and each one of them willing to extend Hermione their grace and compassion while she remained underneath their roof, and specifically even after she had left. The introductions had gone swell and then soon enough Luna had become impatient at having her friend divided, her nose upturned and a hand quickly reaching down to drag Hermione off towards more fun activities. Fun activities being wandering around, letting Hermione become used to every twist and turn, nook and cranny.

The Observatory was lovely, it was massive, and it was endearing in the way that an old but cherished book could charm its owner and newcomers alike. If Hermione had never known what Hogwarts House the Lovegood family frequented she still would have guessed Ravenclaw, if for the styling alone.

There were not one but _three _different libraries and each was on a different floor. Two of them catered towards separate needs; one specifically created to house tomes on histories and the other to contain treatises on sciences both Muggle and Magical. The third library was a much more generalized space, a menagerie of literature from all over the world and varying in styles, tastes, and genres. There was adequate seating in each - _ all of it styled blue and silver, black and bronze _ \- and each item was well-worn and cosy, no space for any coldness within this space.

There were other rooms far more specific to Luna’s parent’s area of study, rooms meant for relaxation at tea-time, others that were more like broom closets but held within them notes on works-in-progress, board games, and all those little things that the family had invented or reverse-engineered from Muggle items into _things _and _beings _that were anything but mundane. There were bedrooms galore - _ each of them bigger on the inside than out, all of them suited towards their particular inhabitant and tastes (some of them styled for no one or nothing in particular, left blank and unspecific so that whoever visited and chose them could fill it as they wished) - _ and bathrooms to match, little crannies carved out into hallways and staircases that looped back on themselves, doors opening nowhere, everywhere was something and something was always more than _nothing. _

It was a home of controlled chaos and Hermione _loved _it.

The only part that Hermione found she didn’t much enjoy was getting lost.

She’d been up on the third - _ or had it been the second? A fifth? _ \- floor, well on her way towards visiting the second library. The Observatory was a mishmash of halls and she had simply wanted to see what notes the Lovegoods had on creature history, something that might be more informative than what Pomfrey had been able to offer her. A simple enough need, but the Observatory seemed to have different ideas.

Hermione had wandered for what felt like ages - _ but that she knew had likely only been a few minutes _ \- until Pandora had run into her. Well, more that Hermione had run into Pandora, but the older Lovegood had simply smiled and apologised profusely.

When they’d settled themselves down from apologizing to one another Pandora had assured her she was fine - _ for the hundredth time _ \- and asked, “Well Ms Granger, what’re you looking for? Let’s see if I can’t help you find it.”

Hermione had explained then and there that Pandora _could _help her - _ the odd fire she could summon up, the pointed ears, her sudden carnivorous urges that coalesced whenever she was presented with certain things that rational Hermione did _**_not_ **_consider as food _ \- and waited patiently while Pandora thought on it. Eventually she’d moved and waved Hermione to come with her, silence overtaking them as they moved through looping twists back towards the library.

“Now then, let’s see. There are more than a few different Creatures with traits like that, so while Pomfry might not have had all of it she was partially right. That’s not the only avenue though, elves also interbred with humans long ago, and sometimes creature inheritances take a while to crop up. Now, may I?” Pandora had knelt, a book balanced on her knee and eyes kind. 

Hermione had nodded and tilted her head so that Pandora could tuck a bushy curl behind her ear. A flourish of Pandora’s wrist had summoned up a notebook and dictation quill, the feathered length of it suddenly swishing into motion when she started voicing her notes. She measured the length of Hermione’s ear, ran a fingertip from bottom to top and noted Hermione’s - _ much to her embarrassment _ \- startlingly loud purr. She asked many questions, took more measurements, sat back on her haunches and watched as Hermione summoned fire and let it dance harmlessly across her skin. Minutes bled off until she seemed to have satisfied her curiosity and with a smile she shut her notebook with a snap.

“Alrighty then,” Pandora said, sitting down amid a wonderfully plush looking armchair. “I’m not quite sure but I’ll take a look. Right off the bat I know Veela are praised for their fire magic but there are a few older races that have access to something like that as well. It’ll help narrow it down but I’d still expect it’ll take a while.”

With the matter sorted - _ or at least the process of sorting it begun _ \- Hermione had departed to spend the first three days of her break wandering around with Luna. She asked Xeno and Pandora questions when Luna couldn’t answer, got the lay of the land in ways she couldn’t have done so without help, and generally found herself to be having an all-around perfect holiday. 

There were books opened for her on customs and courtesies, religions and rituals, and Luna seemed determined that she be the one to help Hermione learn it all. Mornings were spent scarfing down a massive breakfast - _ Xeno was an amazing cook, and Hermione thanked him profusely for how wonderful all of it tasted _ \- that was much closer to being a feast than anything else, a mug of tea or coffee between her hands as Luna giggled, imparting wisdom or random thoughts that would have never come naturally to Hermione.

Their afternoons were spent exploring the marshlands that the Observatory had been built on, Luna leading them off to her favourite spots and little hollows that contained magical plants, muggle variants interbreeding to make something new and interesting. There were animals everywhere, things that flashed and glittered, glowed iridescent hues and made the loveliest sounds. It was so much more _wild_ than anything back home and Hermione made to absorb it all, a little spiral-bound notebook filled with her musings at the end of every adventure.

Evenings were spent in feast again - _ and Hermione worried that she might never again be used to eating food at her own home, or Hogwarts even _ \- and after that they would watch Xeno or Pandora as they worked. The two adults went about their business mostly undisturbed except when one of them - _ or both of them _ \- found reason to pipe up.

Soon after that Hermione would be lying in her bed - _ a spare room furnished for her and Luna unofficially camping out, the fluffed mattress and warm sheets comforting them both while in the hearth fire burned with merry cheer _ \- and chatting with Luna. Often she would lay sideways with her head in Luna’s lap, the blonde girl’s fingers trailing up and down Hermione’s ear and a purr rumbling from her chest.

It was fun, lovely, and quite more than Hermione had expected. The Lovegoods were kind and caring, their demeanour always approachable and each of them unique in ways that left Hermione smiling.

Before she even realised it the day of Rituals had come upon them.

One morning she’d dressed and followed Luna down the curving staircases towards the kitchen, only to find herself suddenly knocked over - _ and almost down _ \- by a warm and gripping hug.

“Nevill!” Hermione had laughed, hugging him back and spinning. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Neville gently released her, a sheepish smile on his face, “Well I wouldn’t miss it for the world. First Rituals are always a good thing, and having friends to be present is a boon. My parents both wanted me to pass on their well-wishes to you, and good cheer for the coming year.

Hermione thanked him - _ and them _ \- profusely, discussed and shared promises that when next year rolled around she would visit his home. Their pleasantries concluded with food and soon enough the three of them were outdoors and watching with rapt attention as Xeno and Pandora set about with preparing the evening rituals. Slowly - _ twig by twig, branch by branch _ \- a pyre was erected in one corner of the yard - _ less marshy than all the rest and dry enough to stand on _ \- while Luna elucidated Hermione to its purpose.

“When it’s ready we’ll all write down our wishes for the next year on aged parchment, and seal them with a drop of blood. Then the incantations will follow and each of us can drop them into the pyre, one by one. My father’s been doing this for ages but he says it doesn’t really have a name, it’s just a simple request for good luck. If we’re lucky then Lady Magic will see fit to ground us blessings, and in turn, she might grant our wishes.”

Luna pulled Hermione along by a warm hand, Neville dutifully following behind and looking just as serious as an eleven-year-old could. Pandora let them wander for a time and then - _ when the sun was low and the crackle of magic was following their every footstep _ \- called them all back, summoning each of them a stack of parchments and a quill. She explained the process one more time and then left them to fill each out, a smile on her face as she joined Xeno to do the same.

Hermione wasn’t quite certain what it was she wanted from the coming year. Most of her wishes had already been granted.

She had steadfast friends in Luna and Neville. She had a loving home, and her grades were nothing to scoff at. She had galleons to spare so the thought of wishing for physical wealth seemed trivial at best, and wishing for physical items seemed downright disrespectful. She’d no need to change her life, no desire to find more people to fit in with - _ Luna and Neville were both more than enough for her, and she treasured the bond they’d developed _\- and no reason to think outside the box on anything else.

That left Hermione with a very small amount of things to wish for, and slowly she scratched them into the faded and yellowing parchment.

A desire to know just where she’d come from was her first entry, that burning _need _to understand just who she was encompassing her attention. She worded it simply enough as _ ‘I’d like to know where I’m from,’ _ then set it aside for the others. She wished for good tidings, good memories, a plentiful year for herself and her friends, their families and her own. She wished that each of them would find exactly what they wanted, exactly what they needed.

It was the last wish that was at once both the hardest and the easiest to write out.

_ ‘I want to know who my birth parents are. I want to meet them if I can, to know them if they’ll let me.’ _

The Grangers would always be her parents, her mother and father. She loved them both as dearly as any child could but there was _more _to her than them alone. She wrote on that paper in looping cursive, sealed it with a drop of blood and an errant tear. She wished she knew if her birth father had known she would be beautiful and smart, she wished she knew if her mother had looked down at her and _known _just who she was. They hadn’t kept her with them, or perhaps they’d disappeared. Why? 

Was her father some High Elf? Was he someone else, was her mother ashamed, were they adventurers and lovers, or had they just been acquaintances, and Hermione just an inconvenience?

Had she been willingly given up or had circumstances forced their hand?

Hermione wanted to know. She _needed _to know. 

When the parchment sealed shut - _ the prick on her finger still bleeding red, Luna’s steady hand having wielded a needle with stark expertise _ \- she felt herself relax, unsteady and unknown anxiety floating off from her soul.

\---

The parchments burned bright and green when they set them inside of the flaming pyre. 

Hermione let her own magic touch them as she let go, the sparks from her fingertips helping along the flames to consume and spread her wishes. From there they entered into a moment of reflection, the Lovegoods drawing Neville and herself along into a steady hug.

Each of them remained quiet as their thoughts turned towards the next year, mourning the year that had passed and whatever they had lost.

“Well then,” Xeno said, stepping back when the moment was concluded and rubbing his hands together to ward off the chill. “Now we have a more generalized blessing ritual. This specific one is passed down from my side of the family, and both of you are welcome to join in should you wish to do so.”

Hermione had smiled at Xeno and Pandora, the fading sunlight falling away from the horizon and dancing light thrown off by shimmering flames bathing them both in sombre hues. She nodded, smiled, and set about listening to what would come.

Being included in something that was so personal to Luna’s family was buoying her spirits and the thought of them _wanting _to include her filled Hermione up with a warmth that felt delightful. Luna grinned at her - _ bright and cheery _ \- and in turn moved to hug them both, Neville squeaking in mock pain when she did so.

Xeno directed them to different placements along the edge of a colour-coded pentagram, handed them both a bundle. Each contained a myriad of plant life; wild sage and grasses Hermione didn’t know, daisies that had been dried out and sticks of cinnamon mingling with dandelions and peonies.

Pandora nodded at them both and lifted her little bundle, held it tightly to her chest and remained still - _ Luna, Hermione, and Neville all imitating as she did so _ \- while Xeno began to chant.

His tone was quiet at first, then wistful. It was filled with harsh consonants and sounds that Hermione couldn’t quite parse, the language spoken being beautiful but different enough that she struggled - _ long ears wiggling _ \- to understand. A shiver rose up her toes and feet as Xeno continued on, the electrifying force of static and pressure skittering across her shins and knees, invading her torso and leaving her to gasp as the feeling of _magic _ \- _ true magic, Wilde magic, something old and ancient and without purpose that they could understand _ \- continued to grow.

It became a steady hum, a droning sound and feeling in her body that mimicked the highs and lows of Xeno’s voice. Before long Hermione could feel every bit of it within herself; the heat of a good fire, the sun blanketing her skin, the warmth of being seated next to Luna and the burgeoning happiness of having someone who loved her for who she was, for family, for blood and an honest purity. It flushed away what aches she held, it calmed her mind as it rose, and soon enough she wasn’t Hermione so much as she was one mind - _ so small, so young and yet to know the world _ \- bobbing along in the wake of that voice, that magic.

It rose in pitch again and Hermione swore she could see the shimmer of faces she knew and loved, a ghosting image of loved ones in her mind, her mother and father and other ancient faces, different creatures and animals as they all spoke as one, of family and love. Tears crawled down her face, sweat soaked her palms and wicked up the dry plants, and with a keening sob Hermione fell down to the ground at the same moment that everyone else did, her bundle held tightly to her chest in a white-knuckle grip.

And then it was gone.

Hermione dropped her hands and released the bundle to spill plants all over the ground. The bodies were moving now and Luna helped to pull her up, pull her into a hug, cheek to cheek and every bit as warm as a rising sun. Neville joined in next, his pale face streaked red from tear marks and a smile plastered across his face. Xeno and Pandora joined them then, hands tightly wound to capture all those in attendance, well wishes and thanks for the year spilling out from all of them.

Hermione loved this, loved the experience, loved the fact that she had been asked to join in. She loved that the Lovegoods had accepted her and all the eccentricity that came with her.

Silent tears of happiness and joy fell down Hermione’s face as she looked on at what she had been missing for the majority of her life. She thought - _ with the barest hint of amusement _ \- that _this _was what it meant to be a part of something _magic. _

\---

Yule passed by far too quickly for Hermione’s liking.

The ritual night had been concluded with warm cocoa and stories, tales and interesting tidbits about Xeno and Pandora’s life. Words passed off until everyone was yawning, and with the sparkling sky above them Neville took his leave. 

He hugged them both - _ and Hermione swore that even as they compressed the life out of her she would never be tired of them _ \- and leapt off through the Floo back home, promising to meet early before term so they could all go shopping together. Luna guided Hermione back up the Observatory’s many stairs while Xeno and Pandora continued on with their own private rituals, hugs passing around and smiles for everyone. Luna remained quiet as they ascended towards the bedroom, an arm threaded with Hermione’s and quiet cheer pulsing through them both.

Hermione yawned and changed into pyjamas - _ a muggle t-shirt with a graphic design of an old knight in battle with a black dragon, the cartoonish look a hanger-on from when she’d been younger and bright pink (and incredibly fluffy) pants _\- and settled in amid the covers, scooting over when Luna climbed in as well.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered, snuggling back into the heap of pillows as Luna rested her head against Hermione’s shoulder.

Luna looked up and smiled, raised her hand and brought it down against the outer edge of Hermione’s ear, “No need to thank me, Hermione. It’s what friends are for.”

\---

As they milled around the train station while awaiting the Hogwarts Express, Hermione caught up with classmates and listened to the stories of their holiday. Some of them had gone off to Muggle celebrations, others to a Yule much like - _ but still different _ \- from the one Hermione had experienced, and others had gone away with family to faraway places or visited relatives they’d hardly ever seen. Each of them had their own stories and Hermione played her role in asking and telling, sharing smiles and cheer even as the melancholy of having to go back to classes began to settle in.

Soon enough they could see the massive train pulling in at the far end of the tracks and Hermione wandered back towards Pandora - _ Xenophilius having had business in the Ministry to attend to _ \- and went to thank her.

“Oh of course dear,” Pandora beamed, kneeling to deliver a hug. “Thank _you _for accepting. It was a lovely Yule and I very much hope that we can repeat it in the coming years. Oh!” Pandora snapped her fingers, looking around before rooting inside of her handbag, “I almost forgot about this.”

Hermione quieted and stared at what she drew out, entranced by the beautiful sight.

It was a jewelled brooch, the centrepiece made from an oval of green stone that was riddled throughout with forking branches of ochre, forks like lightning rolling across its surface. There were other stones as well along the outside, repeating patterns of deep brown and vivid green, the hues splitting and glittering against Hermione’s eyes.

_ ‘Shiny,’ _ Hermione thought, immediately putting the word to rest. She knew - _ intimately, and without understanding _ \- that this was a _ treasure, _ and she felt her heart rate spike accordingly.

“Oh, Ms Lovegood I couldn’t possibly-”

Pandora silenced her with a raised finger, “Oh yes you can. Consider it a reminder that I’ll still be looking for what we talked about. If you wear it and tap the centre stone, say _ ‘Veiled,’ _ and it will mask your ears. I figure it’d be good to have in case you’re ever in company with someone you’d rather keep that hidden from. If you ever want to reverse it just repeat the same. It’s a simple glamour that I applied, you should be learning it in your later years but _anyone _can learn to make these. I’m sure that you’ll learn it as well, soon enough. Now then, I’ve charmed the clasps to expand so it’ll fit you no matter how much you grow. I’d asked Luna if you might want it and she thought it might be appropriate.”

Hermione blushed, smiled, gently took the gift from Pandora’s outstretched hand. With careful reverence she clasped it around her neck and let her finger linger on the stone, a cautious heat beating into the skin around her neck.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered, leaning forward to give the woman a strong hug.

Pandora squeezed her tightly, then smiled and stood up, “It’s not a problem at all dearie, so no need to thank me. Now, you both have a wonderful term.”

Smiles and thanks passed between Hermione and Pandora, Luna exaggeratedly tugging on the hem of Hermione’s robe when the train whistle sounded.

As Hermione collapsed into her chosen compartment and ran her finger against the outer edges of the stone she could only wish that this elated feeling would last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Bellamione? https://discord.gg/pcfMU4F come on in and join the server!


	9. The First Year: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter to finish up Hermione's first year, unedited.

Albus Dumbledore - _ preeminent wizard, Hogwarts Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot _ \- was _confused. _ More so than just confused he was _concerned. _ Even more than that he was _worried, _ and that emotion was rapidly shifting towards despondency.

Not even a day back from Yule break and things were looking grim.

_ ‘Hecate is dead.’ _ The thought rolled against his head, his mind, repeated itself again and again like some horrid echo that just wouldn’t go away.

His desk had been turned away from its rather tidy nature - _ bits and baubles, trinkets and reminders, stacks of paperwork and gifted treasures all in their proper place _ \- and blown into a state of madness. The air still surged with emotion, an errant spilling of magic leaving the space windswept and crackling with energy. Papers flipped, pens disappeared, quills flew into the air and he sat there in stony silence while all of it kept going.

It was a frenzy, and all of this was due to one small message from a particularly ornery mother.

Albus _knew _dragons. He knew them inside and out, knew more about them than any man alive - _ knew more of their secrets too, being the Supreme Mugwump came with _**_some_ **_bonuses _ \- and he knew Narcissa Malfoy was far from human.

Mostly because she’d told him, and he’d stared at her like she was mad for nigh on a minute before a shifting veil of scales had covered her head to tail.

He _knew _she wasn’t human and had been as cordial as he could be - _ even if her stance was one of exhausted distaste _ \- while she brought him terms almost two years ago. She’d wanted to ensure her darling child had a place at Hogwarts, and her husband - _ a dragon as well, Albus knew that even if Lucius avoided spilling his secret or messing with Humans except where it intersected his business ventures _ \- had punctuated those discussions with a well-written note on how deadly cattle could be.

And how much deadlier they could be when dropped through castle walls.

One blessed year of silence and now this, a demand that Draco - _ a child that Albus considered as an all-around good student, smart and willing to help his peers but run through at the beginning of the year with a bit of a childish mean streak that one trip to Horace’s office had set right _ \- be released early from the school year. She wanted his exams over as soon as they could be, and Draco released as soon as possible.

To attend a funeral.

For _ Hecate. _

Albus had known Hecate, back when he’d been a younger man and the world had seemed so interesting that he couldn’t leave it alone. He’d laughed at her riddle-like jokes, had toured all throughout the domain that she called home, and had developed his seminal theory on Dragon blood with help from _her. _ He’d been a friend to her and she’d been a friend to him, and finding out now that she was gone - _ utterly and irrevocably, a magnificent light snuffed out far, far too soon _ \- hurt him almost as much as Gellert’s death had. 

The emotions the message brought him were pouring out, coalescing and then exploding. He read that letter again and again in the hopes that it would change but it _didn’t. _

When Poppy came up to check on him an hour after the meeting on next year’s budget was set to begin he’d smiled. She’d asked him what was the matter and he’d waved her away, unable to reveal the secret contained on that parchment or the tears spilling down his face.

Poppy knew what it was though, or guessed at the reason behind emotion and decided to let him be.

By the time that Fawkes had awoken from his nap the room had settled down. Albus’s emotions were level and even, and his mind had been made up. Thoughts whirled, turned towards the future. The note that Madam Malfoy had sent him included a particular little point of note that seemed - _ on further inspection, his eyes skipping over it at first in his grief _ \- that Hecate’s missing child was, well, still missing.

And if he _really _had read into it correctly it seemed that Madam Malfoy had been hinting at that child now being at _ Hogwarts _of all places.

Albus settled his heart and steadied his mind. If he couldn’t help his friend then he would make it up as best he could, and finally find the missing drakeling.

\---

Hermione would describe her current state as tired but in reality it was far closer to exhaustion. 

She wanted to be languid though, worked towards it by laying across Luna’s lap while the sun beat down across her skin, uniform abandoned in favour of - _ and it might have been against the rules but she found she didn’t much care for House Points and everyone _**_else_ **_was dressed down so why shouldn’t she? _ \- a loose shirt and matching shorts, barefoot while outside the castle hallways. The western wall wasn’t exactly the easiest spot to sit on but Luna had managed it and then hauled Hermione up along with her. The bricks and stones were thinner here but it was all level and dark, a natural heatsink that left Hermione basking in the radiating warmth.

Luna was helping, reading from a thin notebook in one hand while running her fingers through Hermione’s hair with the other. She would tickle an ear, follow the curve towards that _one _spot that made Hermione a giggling mess and then go back up until it started over again.

Below them Neville was practising his incantations, his wand movements prompt and eyes fixed on the horizon as he worked. The structuring of exams and Professor’s insistence on a zero-tolerance policy towards cheating had necessitated small groups, and Neville was soaking up all his extra time to get it all correct. He had a smidgen more time to study than Hermione had been given but in truth she wasn’t bothered. She _thought _she’d done well enough to not be too picky about the two-hour difference, and Neville seemed all the more nervous about going last.

Exams for _her _were over, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to fade into the background radiation of Hogwarts while the last few days passed by. It would be a well-deserved rest, she was sure of that. She’d expected some difficulty during the exams but hadn’t anticipated just _how _difficult they’d be. Surely her midterms had been an indication but _no, _ they _hadn’t. _ She’d barely made it through the last two, Potions and Defense always _had _been giving her the most trouble - _ and really, why did she even _** _need_ ** _ Defense when she could simply summon fire to blanket all her enemies? _ \- and she was sure she’d only passed them on pure grit and a harsh determination to do her best.

“How was that one?” Neville asked, knocking Hermione from her introspection.

She watched again as he loosened his stance, cast and stalled just as soon as the spell left his wand.

Hermione turned and squinted, “I think it’ll work Neville, but you need to remember to follow through when you’re done. It’s like Muggle golf, you can’t just stop when you hit the ball. It might be a simple _ Wingardium _but they’re looking for form over power.”

Neville picked up the book he had been using to practice on and sent it back into the enchanted pocket of his robe, wiping sweat from his brow as Hermione continued.

“Just follow through and keep your pronunciation up, then don’t set anything on fire and you’ll be fine.”

Neville laughed, “Oh sure, sure. That’s easy for you to say. You’re a fire-starter through and through. Me? Well, they tend to just sneak up on me.”

Hermione watched as Neville’s gaze returned to the past, likely remembering the time in March when he’d accidentally conjured up a stream of blue fire that had nearly eaten up an entire section of plant beds while in Herbology.

“I still don’t get how you did that,” Luna piped up. Her tone was relaxed, eyes situated elsewhere, “Professor Sprout isn’t grading you in anything, right?”

“No,” Neville replied. “She already gave me my grades for Herbology, perfect score. Why?”

Luna smirked, “No reason Nevi, don’t worry. Just relax and you’ll be fine.”

Their banter turned towards more lighthearted subjects in an effort to calm Neville’s nerves, and slowly they each relaxed. Hermione idly traced the outline of her brooch, fiddled with its centrepiece and joined the conversation. As of late she had settled on using the veiling function, its way of hiding her ears made her somewhat melancholic every time she looked into a mirror while out and about but she always knew it could be reversed, either by taking it off or reversing the charm. It felt _good _to fit in without anyone looking at her oddly - _ even if most of the student body had seen her ears before they didn’t seem to care now that they were gone _ \- and most people seemed to accept her as she was, ears or no.

All except a few, Blaise included.

The red-eyed boy was just as cold and distant as ever. There were fleeting moments when she caught him staring at her from the opposite side of the Slytherin common room, but he made no move to do more than that and Hermione responded in kind. He obviously didn’t want her as a friend and she refrained from pushing him, even while she wondered just _why _he’d singled her out for exclusion. He seemed afraid of her more than anything, skittish and worried whenever she’d draw near.

It was a conundrum, but not an important one and Hermione resolved to ignore the matter as long as she could.

“Wonder where Draco’s going,” Neville spoke up, his voice breaking through to Hermione and his tone indicating he hadn’t forgotten the teasing from earlier in the year.

Luna hummed and stroked Hermione’s hair, “Somewhere away from here, I think.”

Hermione tilted her head in Luna’s lap and looked, agreeing instantly with her assessment.

Draco was walking out the entranceway, his uniform discarded for a regal cloak of grey and robe of black. A trunk was following behind him and behind _that _was his broom - _ and Hermione was reminded that he was on their Quidditch team, even if she couldn’t remember what his position was _ \- bobbing up and down. But it wasn’t so much Draco that caught her attention as the woman escorting him away.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

Luna shifted, “Narcissa Malfoy, Lady to House Malfoy, wife of Lord Lucius Malfoy. Draco’s mother.”

Hermione absorbed the words and looked across the walkway, entranced and confused all at once.

The woman was beautiful in ways that Luna’s mother hadn’t been, regal and full of poise. Her hair was a startling shade of platinum blonde, almost white, and the robes she’d dressed in were nothing short of fabulous. She assumed they were silk by the way the fabric rose and flowed, grey and silver hues scattering light as she made to pass them by. 

Their eyes connected for but a moment but Hermione felt _something _there. 

Something quick. Something _molten. _ Something that called to her in a way she couldn’t put into words.

And then Ms Malfoy was gone, and the feeling slowly faded.


	10. The First Summer: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildly edited, shorter chap  
Bringing in OC's because I can't make all of the known HP characters into dragons ;_;

Seventy-four.

Seventy-four ancient beasts in attendance for Hecate’s funeral. Seventy-four massive gusts of flame lighting up the night sky. Seventy-four of them to mourn her passing, and seventy-four claw marks to be pressed deep into the door of Hecate’s tomb.

Nymphadora Tonks - _ known as Nymph to her many friends, Tonks to all her enemies and teachers, and Nymphadora only to her mother or Aunt Narcissa _ \- stood far back from the fiery display to watch as the procession crawled out across the sky. There were emissaries from Hungary, a few from Poland and Germany, some others who were more a loose collaboration sending along their dignitaries to pass on thanks for Hecate’s life and blessings for whatever came next. There were groups of Ridgebacks, Horn-tails, Fireballs and - _ if her eyes weren’t deceiving her (and she had no reason to suspect they were) _\- more than a few massive Ironbelly drakes floating along on updrafts created from the flame beneath them. 

Nymph turned back to watch them circle down lower, stretched her neck and ducked down when they came in low enough to touch. Seventy-four majestic dragons speeding by in the blink of an eye was truly a sight to see, and Nymph felt her heart within her throat as they turned and lit up the night sky before curving around again.

The seaspray was cold here, and the peculiarities of Wizarding Scotland’s weather patterns had lent the air a chill that was rapidly fading away even as night settled in. What land there was around them had been shorn down to the barest components and then blackened by ever-present fire. Gusts of ash flew atop the ground and Nymph could taste the brackish remnants of once enormous trees.

She wished with all of her heart to be able to join them up above but that plan - _ that desire _ \- had been dashed. Narcissa and Bellatrix had both decided to shut down her flight of fancy before it’d even begun, their words a sting Nymph wished would fade.

She might have had wings with which to fly but with no true form she was considered _different. _ She wasn’t one of _them, _and despite her wish to pay respects just like the rest of them she’d been told the others would be offended by her presence.

She’d be seen as a shame on Hecate’s legacy, a woman - _ dragon _ \- she’d never even met. 

When the conversation had ended she’d been left in a sour mood, and Bellatrix had somehow managed to make note of that. Not that it’d been especially _hard _to do that.

Extra piles of broken vases didn’t tend to happen on the regular, even when she’d been in her more draconic form and lost sight of her own tail.

Her eldest aunt - _ and wasn’t that saying something; despite them being born in the same clutch, having pecked her way from the egg faster had somehow bequeathed Bellatrix with the status of Elder, even while only being seconds from her sisters _ \- was an odd one for sure, boastful and hot one moment before becoming cold and distant in the next. She also knew how to apply herself in ways that Nymph’s mother did not. 

Andromeda might have been a fine parent but she lacked the explicit ability to ignore tact and gracefulness, she could hardly ever say something _harsh _or put things plainly. But Aunt Bellatrix?

“Stop looking like a mopey goblin,” Bellatrix had told her, strutting around the blasted ground before anyone else had arrived. “They’ve their own rituals and traditions, it’s not meant to be a slight against you. That said, they’re all too involved in their old ways to ever change. You’ll come to know that eventually, you’ve inherited all the parts that count and in your own time you can tell them to fuck off.”

Nymph had shrugged and kicked away a hunk of still-burning wood, charcoal breaking apart into dust and embers as she did so.

“Still stings.”

Bellatrix remained silent while Nymph crossed her arms, scratched idly at her scales with a long claw.

“Look,” Bellatrix said, moving forward to pull her close enough to stand forehead to forehead. “Live long, do great things. Show them that their belief in your blood is mistaken. Good, bad, it doesn’t matter. Just make them remember you, and _change_ their minds. Right now isn’t the time for it, not with the _why_ of them being here. But later? Those old buggers can’t stand up to a Black, and no matter your name that’s what you_ are._ _Toujours Pur._ Always pure, always family.”

The sudden outpouring of strength and emotion wasn’t exactly usual for Bellatrix, and so Nymph had stood there with her mouth open and nothing coming out. In response to Nymph’s stupor, Bellatrix had simply pulled her close and hugged her hard enough that Nymph had reason to believe her ribs were going to explode. When next she could breathe Bellatrix had stepped back and then shifted into her winged form, jumped from the ground with wings flapping in exertion, and then bowled Nymph over with the press of air as she took to flight.

Nymph stood there and watched as Bellatrix ascended, left alone but not _feeling _alone.

It hadn’t taken long from that point for all the other dragons to arrive, and from then on she’d simply been on the ground watching them.

Hours passed by, intricate patterns woven into the fabric of the sky as the pack swirled around and dived, rose back up towards the clouds and then came barrelling back at a speed that looked impossible. It came to an end with one final push, all of them rushing by Nymph and then settling into a loose grouping of biting maws and screeching roars that made her ears ring. She watched as they shifted one by one, their more human forms suddenly spreading the pack thin. There were a few with wings like her but more of them without, and some that seemed entirely human except the faintest dusting of scale on skin.

The pack approached Hecate’s final resting spot, and at the head of them all was a single woman standing tall while moonlight glittered darkly across her scales. She stood straight and exuded power, the backdrop of a massive granite obelisk being the only thing more present in that moment. Nymph watched as the woman’s muscles rippled under bronze skin, her hair a curling twist of ochre and eyes of sparkling green as she turned to view all those who were present.

“Hear me!” Screamed the woman, her tone booming out across them. “Hear me, and hear her!”

Flames arose from her palms in jets of blue and green, Nymph hurriedly pushing forward to catch a better look.

Bellatrix sidled up alongside of her when she’d come close enough, her voice a whisper as she spoke, “That’s Hecate’s clutch-mate.”

Nymph stiffened and then relaxed as her mother joined opposite Bellatrix while whispering something in her ear, Aunt Narcissa following behind her.

“Her name is Selene,” Narcissa said, voice a whisper against Nymph’s ear.

“She’ll be the one to take control of the Clan now that we know for sure that Hecate is gone,” Andromeda spoke up, a soft hand on Nymph’s shoulder.

Nymph nodded to let them know she understood, body relaxing as her mother and aunts closed in to press warm scale against scale, their emotion conveyed without words. Nymph relaxed - _ slowly _\- but not as much as she wanted at the tenderness of their touch.

Selene still paced before them, words exploding from her chest and hand outstretched to the obelisk behind her.

“My clutch-mate was murdered in cold blood!” she roared, her voice a force of nature. “My clutch-mate’s children were killed, stolen away, and then for the crime of _ looking for them _ she was _ cut down!” _

Voices broke out, murmurs of agreement and discontent rising amongst those gathered, louder and louder as Selene let the moment drag out.

“Her head was struck from her body, stuffed as if she were some pitiful _animal, _ some _trophy! _ ” Selene stopped her movements, embers sparking and dripping from her hands. The breath she exhaled was filled with smoke and sparks, “We will lay her here to rest but her soul is not _ rested.” _

Nymph could feel as Narcissa stilled beside her, Bellatrix began to nervously fidget, and her own mother simply wavered back and forth, hand clenching at her side and thin trails of smoke rising from her nostrils and mouth.

_ “We will destroy the ones responsible for her loss, _ ** _our loss!”_ ** Selene erupted, exploded, one hand brought straight above her head and fire pouring from her palm, a stream so hot and bright that Nymph found herself squinting as heat and light rolled over her.

The dragons surrounding them slowly joined in, their murmur becoming a cacophony of yells and senseless madness, an inferno catching light. Nymph joined with them when the wave of emotion met her, Andromeda and her sisters joining in. It lasted only seconds but the air itself seemed to catch fire, burned, oxygen ignited and _fire _left as the only scent.

It slowed eventually, stopped suddenly, and then there were no jets of flame. No light except the stars, no sound except the waves far below them all.

“We will find her missing child,” Selene spoke, her voice far softer and wracked through with tense emotion. “We will find them so that they may know us, and through _us _ they shall know Hecate. She was _power. _ She was _might. _ She was a leader and a mother, a sister and a friend. May she be reborn in the world to come, a fire strong enough to cleanse the world.”

Selene’s voice faded away, her shimmering eyes roaming across the assembled group. When they latched onto Nymphadora’s the young woman had the strangest feeling in the world grip her tightly, and she knew then that this wouldn’t be the last she’d see of Selene.

\---

Bellatrix stood before the obelisk and pressed her claw into it with as much force as she could muster, muscles stiffening and bunching as she fought to gain purchase on the granite. It was smooth and polished, taken up from a local source and ancient as could be. It was hardened with time, craftsmanship, and only magic could insist on changing it any further.

Her claws were magic, in a way.

The rites and rituals of this event were unfamiliar to Bellatrix - _ Selene’s Clan followed older practises than most, and all around them they were different breeds, different histories, and their idea of a funeral was as different from one to the other as their scales _ \- but she was trying to follow their lead as best she could. It took a moment but the hook of her claw found purchase and dug in, and when she was finished with her mark she wandered off towards Selene and waited for Narcissa to join them, Andromeda and Alphard already at the dragon’s side.

Alphard nodded at her and wandered off as Bellatrix approached, her voice dropping to a solemn level and filled with emotion as she addressed Selene, “You have my condolences.”

A gaze of molten fire met her words, “If I’d have wanted any condolences I would have asked for them. I want something else.”

Bellatrix awkwardly danced around the response, leaned over into Andromeda and turned to watch as Narcissa struggled to make her mark.

“What do you want then?”

“I want your assistance. I want to find out who it was that murdered my sister. You live here, right in the thick of them. I don’t, and most of my Clan will never stay here of their own accord.”

That was a simple enough desire but not one that Bellatrix quite felt like plumbing until she’d had some time to think. She was - _ thankfully enough _ \- spared a response by Narcissa’s arrival, and with her presence the conversation turned towards what Selene’s Clan planned on doing after the funeral.

“I don’t know, to be quite honest with you. We’ll all be looking out for a new home in the Americas but half of the Clan want to move on and put this business behind them while the others won’t stop until Britain has been razed to the ground.” Selene trailed off as the group began to move, her voice a soft lilt and body twitching with energy.

Andromeda led them back towards the centre of the gathering, “And which of those two sides are you on?”

Selene grinned roughly, her teeth daggers and eyes predatory, “Oh, burning, of course. Someone needs to pay, like I was saying. Someone needs to die for what they did and I don’t much care if they’re the same as the ones who took her clutch.”

Bellatrix looked towards Narcissa and tried as best she could to fully communicate what it was that she was thinking. Lucius joined them and held his wife, a silent presence and a watchful eye. He exchanged a short glance with Bellatrix and seemed to be on the same page, a short nod leading her into speaking up.

“Selene,” Bellatrix said, pulling closer towards the dragon. “We’ve something to discuss that might help you in that regard. Something you might be interested in.”

The dragon stood there in silence, not answering Bellatrix’s words but not ignoring them either. Instead she seemed to be sizing Bellatrix up, her eyes roving from bottom to top until some unknown test was passed.

“Alright then,” Selene said. “I’ll see you all at your home, is that alright?”

Narcissa nodded and led them all away, Bellatrix following dutifully behind as she wondered just how well Selene would take their potential revelation.

\---

“Hermione!” Emma yelled, her voice twisting up the stairwell and onto the landing.

A thunder of feet above where she stood let Emma know that Hermione had heard her, and she busied herself with prepping the last bits of their picnic. A few light sandwiches for the main meal, some fresh fruit and slices of salmon stuffed tightly against a cold-pack. There were water bottles for Hermione - _ who had never really seemed to enjoy juices or sodas but had tolerated them whenever she’d needed to _ \- and ginger beer for John and herself, with a lovely bottle of chardonnay to round it out. They had been meaning to hold onto that as a celebration for Hermione’s successful first year, and the first weekend home from school seemed the best time for it.

The accomplishments that their darling little girl had achieved were all in classes that they had not one whit of experience with - _ with exception to the doldrums of a history course, which they could always understand, and one that had seemed much like the introductory horticulture classes Emma had taken as an undergrad _ \- but they still wished to celebrate Hermione’s success at coming home with the highest marks of her year. Hermione had humoured their wishes by suggesting a picnic, a lovely idea and an even lovelier place to visit. It wasn’t so far from their home as to be an uncomfortable drive, nor was it so close that the packed in nature of a city could crowd them out. Trees with branches full of leaves, a soft breeze, nature all around them.

It would be lovely, just as soon as they could get there.

Footsteps pounded heavily against the stairs as Hermione jumped the last few steps and yelled excitedly, “Here Mum!”

John was following behind her with a smile on his face and a worn-out blanket tucked beneath his arm. They double-checked their food and then headed out into the car - _ a red Fiesta that John maintained with ruthless efficiency, sacrificing many of his Saturday mornings and countless late nights to toil out beneath the hood when little things went wrong, or to simply teach himself enough that to ensure that never happened _ \- in a jumble of happy conversations, soon enough speeding down the motorway. They held to light topics and flitted about, good cheer propelling them as they arrived, swiftly heading out to pick a spot and unpack.

“So,” John asked, spreading the blanket onto soft grass and apologizing to the few flowers - _ or weeds, Emma thought, their yellow heads so numerous there was nowhere else to sit _ \- he crushed down. “Favourite part of the school year, go.”

Hermione sat still in contemplation for a moment, her hands working only to unpack the wicker basket Emma had brought with them and face screwed up in concentration. Eventually, she pulled out a sandwich and paused with it just before her lips.

“My friends,” Hermione answered, biting into her meal. “I mean the magic part of it is great and all but it wouldn’t be the same without them. So I guess that’s my favourite so far.”

She finished her bite and swallowed, laughing as she said, “Or the library I suppose, it’s massive!”

“Ah, you and libraries. Why did I even think it was any different?” John teased, taking a swig of his drink while Hermione turned away, her cheeks flushed with the embarrassment that all children seemed to feel upon being questioned by their parents. “Any chance we’ll meet them? Your friends, that is, not your favourite books.”

Emma caught his eyes in a show of support and smiled, “If they’re _your _friends I’d sure love to get a chance to meet them. If only so we can show them all your baby pictures.”

Emma laughed at Hermione’s reaction, very much in thought about which pictures she could show - _ and which were still hidden deep within a shoebox in her closet, never to see the light of day until Hermione was older and she felt comfortable talking about her little demon-phase _ \- and enjoying the idea.

It was only fair. After all, she’d been reduced to suffering the same fate when she was a child, and what was a parent if not someone who passed along experiences as well as love?

Hermione laughed and made her face into an exaggerated look of disgust, “No thanks for that Mum. But, can I? Ask them over?”

“Of course dear,” Emma said, letting Hermione know that she could ask them if they’d like to stay the night or just visit during the day. Their stipulations were minimal but with assurances that they ask their parents first all was ironed out. Hermione promised to send the notes out the next morning - _ as even though she lacked an owl to take her own she knew the location of the nearest charmed postbox which would route her letters to the Owl Post _ \- and then let them know when she’d received a reply.

The matter settled into the background as they set about enjoying the food and the weather, delighting in a small walk through a patch of shady trees after getting everything downed and then put away. By the time they were tuckered out enough to head home the shadows had all grown long, the sun still high up above them but twilight swiftly setting in.

It was a quiet ride back towards home, and Emma amused herself by looking in the rearview as Hermione slumped against the window. Her hair was tangled up and curling, a sharp tip of one ear poking through the fine strands and a sleepy smile on her lips.

The arrival back home was quiet. Night had descended by the time they’d arrived and Hermione had sat in the back while she cleared her bleary eyes, Emma dutifully remaining to see her off to bed while John put everything away. When she finally coaxed Hermione to the base of the stairwell the young girl had turned and hugged her, Emma fully realizing how much her little treasure had grown in the year away.

“Thanks, Mum,” Hermione whispered, hugging tight and warm. “Love you.”

Emma smiled and replied in kind, ushering her daughter up to bed as the night - _ so very ordinary, and much the same as any other _ \- came to a close.


	11. The First Summer: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No-Edit, I'll clean it eventaully  
[time-skipping intensifies]

“Alright then. Where do we begin? And talk fast, she’ll be here any second.”

Narcissa waited for an answer, quirked an eyebrow at her sister when she didn’t get one. The curls spilling down Bellatrix’s shoulders looked limp and forlorn, there was darkness under her eyes and a slump to her shoulders that exuded near-total exhaustion. 

The mood had shifted rather abruptly as they’d finished up Hecate’s funeral. A procession of her mates and family had spoken at length of her deeds and accomplishments, stories of her life. They had carried on for some time until by the end each of them were teary-eyed and sniffing past embers.

Now they were home, and Narcissa just wanted this night to end. 

It had been long, the day prior had been longer, and Selene’s proclamation of retribution had managed to rouse her from whatever torpid state their idyllic life had left her in. It was more likely that they’d all been roused; Selene had spoken with emotion and power reverberating through every syllable, and those assembled knew first hand that she wanted to right this wrong.

Bellatrix shivered in response to her stare and took a seat, curling in around herself with her tail in her hands and nails idly scratching down the length of it. 

“Well? Are you going to answer me or do I have to go pull Andi in here?” Narcissa kept her voice even as she spoke, her tone quiet and demure despite the undercurrent of heat suffusing her heart.

Three seconds ticked by before she said screw it and exploded.

_ “Bellatrix!” _

Her sister was knocked loose from wherever it was that she’d been, her eyes coming sharply into focus, “What? What, Cissa? Where the bloody hell do we begin, eh? I suppose I’ll start it off, _ ‘Oh, hi Selene! That child that went missing? Hecate’s daughter? Oh, right, she’s a girl by the by, and we think she’s being raised by the humans who stole her. Oh! And she’s my mate, just need to wait a few years for her to realize it!’ _ I’m sure that’ll go right fucking swimmingly.”

Narcissa kept silent a moment and then retorted, “Well, that _ does _ just about sum it up.”

Bellatrix turned red in the face, her mouth hanging open.

“Of course it does Cissa. And if we don’t happen to want Selene to go about burning through all of Wizarding England, _ and probably Muggle England too, _ we had better come up with some softer way of saying it! Do you really think she’ll let her niece remain with whoever took her? Hells, we don’t even know where she is! All we know is that she’s apparently at Hogwarts for part of the year and the only reason we have that to go off of is that I can smell her on Draco. I’m the only one picking up on her scent, you didn’t see anything suspicious or scent anything suspicious, and he hasn’t either despite being there a year. I don’t know if he’s really that bad at picking out another dragon or she’s hiding herself, or Draco’s just oblivious. No one with any connections has been able to tell me anything at all and I can’t even show up on campus during the year without sticking out like a sore thumb and possibly outing us to the nearest idiot with a brain cell-”

“Well, why not?” Narcissa calmly asked, her voice breaking into Bellatrix’s tirade immediately. “Why can’t you just show up? I did. Surely we can finagle Dumbledore into letting you on campus. You clean up just as well as any other human except for your ears, and I’m certain I can find a good glamour to hide that.”

It was an entirely honest statement and Narcissa blinked while waiting, tilted her head and sat there with a smug little smile. 

Why _couldn’t _ Bellatrix just show up? The only reason she hadn’t when Draco had needed to come home early was that it was only Narcissa who’d been cleared by the wards. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to get the old man to let her in, just to check around. 

Right?

Before Bellatrix had a chance to answer they were interrupted by their guest’s arrival, a door opening down the hall as she was led in by what sounded - _ and smelled, to Narcissa _ \- like Lucius.

She was proven right when he entered, looking pale, tired, and still smiling warmly when their eyes met. He made a beeline straight for a seat beside Narcissa and scooted as close as he could without sitting on her tail. She leaned into him and let him wrap her in strong arms, close as they could be and tails intertwining.

“Alright, alright. Now, what is it that you all want? Andromeda was rather coy, you two were rather coy. Even your mate was rather coy about all this. The only one who _hasn’t _been coy with me so far is your niece and I’m halfway certain she’s only acting that way because she’s been struck dumb by my good looks. She really ought to get out and visit some more clans, she might be a halfsie but she’s got to know how to interact with us without looking starstruck all the time.” Selene paused, crossed her arms and squared her stance. She exuded power and authority, took no chair and made no move to sit, “Well, come on then. I’ve not got all day.”

“We have,” Narcissa started, her voice low. “Well, that is to say, we _ think _ that we might have a revelation regarding your missing niece.”

Selene narrowed her eyes into thin slits of green, fire dancing faintly in flecks of gold.

“Mind explaining to me exactly why it is you think the missing egg is a girl?”

Bellatrix was the one to respond, taking a mere second to screw up all her faculties and puff out her chest, hold her chin high.

“She’s my mate,” Bellatrix proclaimed.

In Narcissa’s mind it was a rather anticlimactic statement.

Selene merely scoffed at the assertion, rolled her head and looked at the ground for a second or two before staring back up and into Bellatrix’s eyes, a challenge if Narcissa had ever seen one.

“Okay then, show me. Show me _her, _ show me that you’re her mate. Even if you were, even if you’re _right, _ you’re more than a few years her senior, and the bond won’t settle on her for at least a few more. So even if you had her right now I couldn’t rely on her being able to prove it out. That’d have to wait until she was of age.” Selene pushed herself into Bellatrix’s space, crouched down before the seat and brought her face close, “Why did you wait until right now to tell me? Why not at the funeral? Why not before? Why not when you first figured it out?”

Bellatrix held her ground and refused to back away, “Because we haven’t exactly been sure of it. We’re working to confirm the theory but right now it’s the best one we’ve got. Besides, it took me some time to come to this conclusion. Even I was dubious at best when I first caught her scent.”

“So?” Selene cocked her head, “A mating is unique, special. As soon as you scented her you should have been all over it.”

“You don’t think I tried that? I first caught their scent in Diagon Alley, a major shopping thoroughfare for Wizarding folk. My first thought was to head back, and I did. Day after day, thinking I had only just missed them. They might have been young but I didn’t take that fully into account until later. I thought the scent just came from a shopper, that I’d passed them by. But I couldn’t pick up their scent again.”

Bellatrix took a moment to breathe, composed herself and continued on, “Draco is my sister’s only child. He was carrying my mate’s scent with him when he returned from Hogwarts. That’s how I knew to narrow it down, to start asking questions.”

“Questions such as?”

Bellatrix answered and Narcissa leaned back into Lucius, watched them as they sparred. Bellatrix explained in depth how she’d gone from Wizarding House to House, flitting amongst all the pure-blood families in Britain - _ or at least all the ones in good standing who would tolerate a stranger on their doorstep and questions about their breeding habits _ \- in an effort to find out whether someone had simply wed a dragon into their lines, and whether that fusion had borne fruit. That line of questioning had come up empty - _ and Narcissa was somewhat glad that it had, some old fuck marrying into a lineage of Dragons in an effort to gain something for themselves wasn’t so far fetched an idea, and in the past those marriages had almost always ended poorly for the Dragons _ \- and then she’d gone about asking other Dragons whether they had sent any children off to Hogwarts.

That too had failed to yield results, and that was when she’d started thinking, starting piecing things together. Missing children weren’t a common occurrence, and the scale of Hecate’s loss - _ total _ \- had made her a household name. 

Everyone knew that at least _one _egg was - _ possibly, there were rumours it’d been destroyed _ \- missing.

What were the odds that a young dragon had taken residence in Hogwarts, what were the odds that they were around the same age as Hecate’s egg - _ possibly older, possibly younger, the scenting wasn’t exactly what one would call precise _ \- should be? What were the odds that the newest arrival to Hogwarts - _ or prior arrival, Narcissa couldn’t rule it out that the Dragon was older and they’d only now noticed because Draco went to the school _ \- wasn’t sponsored by a family, wasn’t born from some faraway Clan?

It made sense. If you squinted, took it with no salt, and viewed it in the half-light of a dying moon.

Which meant it made more than enough sense to be true. Far odder coincidences had occurred in the past, were sure to occur in the future.

“I want her back,” Selene growled.

Narcissa pulled herself away from Lucius’s embrace and stared, her mind coming back to the conversation at hand and off of her own rationalizations.

Bellatrix was bristling visibly at Selene’s command - _ and it _**_was_ **_a command to be sure, Narcissa knew that, Bellatrix knew that, no simple request would carry so much force as Selene’s words had _ \- and staring at the other dragon. Her face was twisted into something sharp and fierce, something _angry, _ something with sharp teeth and a wicked bite.

When Bellatrix next spoke her words were measured and even, exhalations filled with embers, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. She’s _my _niece. _ Mine. _ She falls under my family. I’ll roast alive whoever the fuck it was that stole her, and she’ll stay with my Clan until such a time as I’m certain she’s ready to leave. She’ll have a mate when _ I _ say she will. And who knows, we might all be packed up and living comfortably in South America by the time that happens. Who’s to say she’ll ever end up with you?”

Selene finished with a cruel smile, a twinkling in her eyes letting all of them know that she _would _do that.

The question was _why, _ and how they would get her to change her mind.

Bellatrix flashed heat, scales burning to the touch and scorching the fabric she sat on, “What is it that you want?”

\---

“Luna? Would you mind helping me right quick?” John looked out across the motor to where the young girl was sitting, a book in her hands and eyes deep within its pages.

She perked up at his words and smiled, the book falling to the stairs as she stood and headed towards him.

“Right, would you mind handing me that wrench? It’s the long one, with the red handle. Has a little bend in the middle?” He aimed with his eyebrows towards where it lay in the toolbox, his hands just barely managing to keep their grip on the tubing and bolt he needed tightened down. It had loosened itself the day before and while he was quite certain that it being somewhat loose wouldn’t present any issues to them he also was quite certain that - _ even it was just sitting there, not really providing much support and what it did support not being quite that important _ \- he wanted it cinched back in place.

Unfortunately for John, he had only two hands and no magic to help him with it, and now he needed some assistance.

Luna nodded and headed over, reaching down and turning, “This one?”

He nodded and showed her where to place it inside the engine - _ which was off and had been cold for some hours now _ \- before moving swiftly to grab the handle, tightening it down as fast as he could. Luna stood by his side and asked questions, poking and prodding every few seconds after he finished answering. She was inquisitive to a fault, and while he’d never tell Hermione or Emma he was quite happy to have someone to dump information on.

He spoke quickly and concisely, having only a few more minutes until Hermione showed up again. 

They weren’t planning on much that day but swimming out in a lake nearby, a welcome distraction from the late summer heat. Luna had apparently shown up with this in mind - _ multiple stays at the Granger household had prepared her for random outings, and recently she’d begun planning her own around Hermione’s whims and interests, amid other days where they spent time inside reading or running off to museums and libraries for the afternoon _ \- but Hermione hadn’t, and her bathing suit was packed away somewhere. Luna had decided to wait on her and then John had needed things fixed, so here they’d ended up.

Bettie - _ the Fiesta and not a woman, though Emma swore sometimes that he loved the car more than any lady he’d ever met _ \- came together with groans and protests, squealing metal and blisters.

Before too long though he was done, clapping his hands and wiping grease from them with a - _ just as greasy _ \- rag.

“Alright then. Thanks, Luna. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He turned and smiled at how the young girl basked in the praise, “Now, would you mind heading in and finding Hermione? Let’s see what’s taking her so long, usually she’s a bit faster.”

Luna nodded once and then saluted - _ a move she’d picked up off of a movie Hermione had invited her to watch _ \- before turning around and heading in with haste.

John had to admit he rather approved of Hermione’s choice in friends.

Luna was a quiet girl and somewhat reserved, but she managed to stick to Hermione like glue. She was voracious for any sort of knowledge, though it seemed that information about the Muggle - _ and oh boy did it still twist John’s head around to refer to himself as _**_that_ ** \- world caught her fancy more often than not. She was kind and thanked them profusely whenever she thought it best, and he’d caught Hermione laying with her head in Luna’s lap more than enough times while they were reading or watching a show. It was cute, and it warmed his heart to see his daughter be so comfortable with someone outside of the family.

Neville was an entirely different matter but not for any of the reasons that John had initially been worried about.

Hermione had painted a picture of a young boy who was rather reserved, terribly worried about living up to his parent’s expectations and needing affirmation that he was worth something even when he didn’t reach those lofty heights. John had somewhat been thinking she was sugarcoating it, and that he’d be one of those rambunctious sorts - _ much like he had been at that age _ \- flitting about and being a nuisance. In a grand turn of events, he hadn’t been anything like that at all.

When Neville first arrived he’d shook their hands and thanked them for allowing him over, proper manners and a bright smile on his face. As soon as the introductions had been put behind them - _ and a plate of warm cookies that he’d told them his parents had helped him make as a show of thanks for inviting him over _ \- he’d turned into a bubbly and animated presence, no nerves to be found at all. The next second he’d sprinted out the house with Hermione in front and Luna trailing in the rear, off to explore the outside and voices raising in good cheer.

He was outgoing, kind, and seemed determined to drag Hermione and Luna along on whatever adventure his mind came up with - _ and John had made damned sure that the adventures they’d gotten up to _**_were_ **_safe, of course all that worry had been put to rest once he’d realised the boy wanted them to go out looking for rare plants, or to cut and press leaves, chart the course of a nearby river or go bird-watching in the park nearby _ \- until they were all tuckered out for the day. More surprising than the activities they were getting up to was the simple fact that Hermione _enjoyed _them.

Adored them, even.

His little Hermione had never once been a very outdoorsy child, she’d much preferred to sit inside with her books instead of going out traipsing through the forest. But with Luna and Neville at her side she seemed to be finally revealing a more outgoing version of herself, and she could hardly be kept from joining them. 

With a smile on his face and hands already dipping back into the guts of dear Bettie, John began to muse on how brightly his daughter had taken to her friends.

It was - _ in a way _ \- a little bit of a miracle, and one he rightly cherished.

\---

Bellatrix bashed apart the door, splinters and little bits of wood redirecting against the walls as she bowled through the entranceway. Her scales absorbed the little pieces, glittered darkly under the light of a single torch. She pushed in, moved harder, had her hands on the man’s throat and lifted him up until tiptoes were all he had left.

“Where was it?!” She screamed, her mouth leaking smoke and embers, the rippling of her scales a glimpse into frightful insanity.

The man blinked down at her, mouthed wordless pleas, his hands wrapped around Bellatrix’s wrists as she realised there was no way to escape her wrath. She held him there for a second or two more before throwing him harshly against the wall, an impression left in the drywall when he slid down onto his ass. Bellatrix moved without thought, her tail whipping around and catching him with its tip, his face exploding outwards into a bloody mist as his nose was shorn open.

_ “Fuck!” _ he screamed, his voice nasally and broken, blood clouding from his lips.

Bellatrix crouched low and cocked her head, bared her many fangs, “Where _ was _ ** _it.”_ **

He stared up at her and then began to babble, excited words streaming out as he described his catch. Or perhaps it was better to say his _find. _ His words were painting the picture of an imbecile happening upon the still-cooling corpse of a dragon far from home, her body heavy and unmarred, no sign of who or _what _had killed it.

So - _ naturally _ \- he had simply decided that this bounty of materials - _ and Bellatrix swore then, her hatred bubbling to the surface, her anger at the dignitaries of their world working side by with the Ministry’s of his to procure corpses, her all-consuming rage painted brightly on her face at the thought of poachers going out of their way to kill her kind, her distrust at the imbeciles who thought nothing of them except that they were animals and fodder for a soulless world _ \- was worth taking. 

Getting the chance to terrorize him was worth her time. It was worth the few minutes out of her day it took to track him down, and it was worth the sting in the tip of her tail. It was worth the _ Obliviation _that she left him with - _ the strange magic tunnelling from her arm in an unnatural way (and how did Draco or Nymphadora ever find this to feel _**_good_ ** _ ?), wizard-kinds spells being a poor substitute for her own _ \- even as it left her with another disturbing question.

If this man had simply been the fool to happen upon Hecate’s corpse, _ who _had actually killed her?


	12. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No edit  
Things are moving
> 
> belated note, this fic is one year old. Huzzah

Shopping for the upcoming year was supposed to be _fun. _

Or rather it had been voiced that now that they knew what they were getting into it would be _more _fun than the year before. It would - _ and was _ \- full of entertainment and life, a rousing success that was made possible at the urging of the Lovegood family. They’d stopped by Hermione’s home first before coming to Longbottom Manor to pick him up, and now that they were here they were each in their element. They made their way from one shop to the next in an effort to pick up what they needed, and to pick up what other things they wanted. Ms Lovegood was a positively energetic chaperone and Mr Lovegood was her match in every way. They each took their time to entice the group towards one thing or another, the items described to them in ways that spoke to them individually. Mr Lovegood was the one who seemed ready to curtail any outlandish ideas though, and his wife appeared to be having fun with it as they moved around the Alley.

One of those enticing spots had been Flourish & Blotts, which Hermione had scrambled to as soon as she could. There were books on every stand and the aisles were filled with other shoppers, the smell of old parchment and strong ink filling the air.

Neville was having just as much fun as his friends as they shopped, even if he wasn’t so enthusiastic about books as Hermione was. He was also _trying _to have fun despite the odd mood that had overtaken him from the moment he awoke.

It wasn’t a _ bad _mood, not really, but it was _odd. _ It felt like he was intruding on something even though he knew that wasn’t the case. They’d invited him here, they’d _wanted _him here. Perhaps it was merely a case of nerves that he’d caught while worrying about the upcoming year. Perhaps it was because his parents - _ once again, even though his Great Nan kept telling him to ignore what they said and focus on himself above all _ \- were hounding him for better grades and a stronger performance on his tests.

Or maybe it was that he’d just woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.

No matter the exact reason for his odd feeling, Neville ensured he kept a smile on his face and took to looking around the Alley with as much amusement as his friends. He especially paid attention when Mr Lovegood took the time to ream a fancifully dressed fellow who’d been telling fibs in the form of books. The man was tall and gangly, all photogenic smiles and empty eyes. He had a book that he was attempting to hawk to the owner - _ who wasn’t having any of it _ \- and apparently he’d managed to insult the elder Lovegood as he did so. 

Neville wasn’t exactly certain what had gone on between them but he was very much enjoying the results.

Luna seemed to be enjoying it as well, and Ms Lovegood simply seemed to be observing it with a detached sort of interest that hid how her eyes roved over the titles behind the counter. It didn’t take very long for Mr Lovegood to excoriate the man, perhaps five minutes at the most but it was more than enough time to leave the fellow looking pink in the face and flush with fear. When all was said and done Mr Lovegood tore the book from the man’s hands and shredded it with a spell that Neville didn’t know, smiling rather happily as it slowly disappeared into reams of confetti.

“And let that serve as a preview,” Mr Lovegood said, leaning close into the man’s space so that no one except those closest could hear his words.”Never, and I do mean ever, put out something like this _drivel _again. None of it was true, and if you try to pass off someone else’s ordeals as your own please do not go about ranting on it within earshot of _one of those people. _ Now, please do us all the favour of disappearing, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Apparently, the man didn’t, and in short order he had disappeared from the store. They remained within for a few more minutes before everything was purchased and then went about their day, paying and then leaving through the front. Their bags were floating along behind them and Neville took a spot off to the right, Hermione and Luna beside him while Ms Lovegood strode along in front and Mr Lovegood behind.

Yet Neville _still _felt odd, and he didn’t know why.

That oddness had a way of distracting him, and perhaps it was for that reason alone that he managed to blunder his way into a passing bump against a woman who had been window shopping at Madam Malkin’s. There were two very large robes made from dragonskin on display within the window; large notes attached to the robes spoke towards their invulnerability against fire and penchant for bouncing spells off the scales. The woman had been staring at them intently with her fists balled at her sides, and when Neville bumped against her she merely turned without speaking, a look on her face making him quiver where he stood.

“I’m sorry Ma’am!” he apologized, his tone growing frantic when he got a good look at her eyes and his own heart starting to beat rapidly within his chest.

She hadn’t responded to him with any words, just turned her head to stare at their little group.

And then, oddly enough - _ in a way that capped off Neville’s rather odd day _ \- she _smiled. _

\---

“Draco!” Narcissa practically _screamed _her son’s name, voice carrying off through the halls and rooms of Malfoy Manor as if they were borne on an infernal wind.

_ She’s been found! _

There was a scurrying from far above her as Draco made for his door, and Narcissa practically flew up the stairwell in response. Her skin turned to scale and her fingernails shifted to claws, scratches eating up the bannister as she rose. There was no stopping her as she rounded the corner of the stairwell, no slowing her down as her tail lashed out against the wall.

Her son emerged from the far end of the hallway with wide eyes, blue orbs frightened - _ and she told herself, distantly, to stop; she was scaring him _ \- and gleaming.

He shrank back as she rounded on him and knelt, “Draco, Draco my dearest, I need you to tell me who that girl was that hangs around with the Longbottom boy. The Muggleborn in Slytherin, that one, do you know her name?”

He had told her the girl’s name before but she couldn’t remember it for the life of her. For some reason she had simply filed it away for further use and then promptly forgotten all about it. But it was _her! _ Or so they thought. She _needed _confirmation.

Draco stared back at her with confusion painting his face, “Granger?”

\---

Sirius Black wasn’t someone to be easily startled.

But he was when it came to the family, and he most certainly was surprised when Narcissa’s head appeared in his Floo and demanded that he head to her home with all due haste. Narcissa had never once particularly liked him despite their close familial ties, so the mere fact that she had sent him this call with so much urgency in her voice was a cause for concern. More particularly he’d been disturbed by how she’d ended the message, how she’d described that if he didn’t hurry someone innocent might die.

He had never exactly been someone who would shy away from fighting, but the _weight _with which she’d said that meant it was _real. _ He wasn’t willing to go down into the history books as someone who’d had the chance to act and then refused, someone who let innocent blood be spilled when it hadn’t been necessary.

With a nod he’d shut his mouth at the smart reply that had come to mind and shifted just outside his door, racing into the sky as he flew towards his cousin’s home. The distance between them wasn’t that great - _ despite what his sibling and cousins might have said, he always remained close by enough to be within reach if necessary _ \- and soon enough he was landing in her front lawn as the sun began to just dip beneath the horizon. There was someone there to meet him, Andromeda it appeared, her scales mostly black with just the faintest flecks of grey and silver. She shifted as he landed, sprinted into the Manor, and off he went hot on her heels.

\---

“What is it?” Andromeda asked, her words perhaps a bit more forceful than was necessary. She couldn’t stop it though, her nerves had been raw since Narcissa’s invitation - _ much more like a command than something so simple as that _ \- and she’d had no moment to calm herself down.

Bellatrix was pacing ruts before the fireplace in the main study, her arm wrapped around her waist and tail lashing out frantically. When no one moved to answer her question she stepped further into the room and noticed Narcissa sitting off to the side with a glass of something dark and honey-scented, Lucius sitting beside her and looking all the world like he was about to faint.

She asked again, “Well? What is it? What’s going on?”

Sirius bumped up alongside her as he entered the room, his face just as bewildered as her own yet still retaining some sense of calm despite the anxious energy permeating the room. He had always been able to remain calm under pressure, a look on his face that described someone in the thick of things but managing to come out alright. She envied him that calm demeanour, and it seemed they both were going to be left waiting while Bellatrix dug a groove into the floor.

Her sister looked torn up, her eyes darting all around the room and body shivering as she made from one end of the fireplace to the next. By all the varied Gods above and below she looked more shaken than the time their father had threatened her with abandonment, and Andromeda was certain that whatever had her in such a tizzy was likely worth the speed with which she’d flown. Bellatrix was _frightened, _ nervous energy bleeding from her with such swiftness that it had soon infected the entire room.

“Well?” Sirius asked after the seconds continued longer than he could take, his voice a gruff bark and arms crossed atop his chest. “You heard Andi, you heard me. What is it?”

\---

The start to Hermione’s second year was going along quite well, all things considered.

To be sure there had been the usual amount of nervousness that accompanied a return to school, and along with that there had been the looming prospect of coursework that she hadn’t prepared for as much as she’d wanted. A summer spent with friends seemed to have a way of doing that, a way of making her spend hours outdoors or curled up on a couch rather than in her room, nose-deep in whatever she was supposed to be reading.

The sudden press of people wasn’t helping her either. Hermione had thought that going to Diagon would have prepared her for so many people. She had thought spending two days at a zoo would help as well, the spaces both filled up with strangers who carried so much _noise. _ But it hadn’t done that in the slightest and so when she had returned she cared little for all those around her. Too many, too close.

She wanted rest and time to herself, and so when her first week had finished she felt like doing nothing much at all besides walking around in her pyjamas and reading. 

No one to bother her and nowhere to be except at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

But being alone wasn’t really in the cards, not with how thoroughly Luna had decided to attach herself to Hermione’s hip.

Which she didn’t detest, not in the slightest.

The younger girl had made it her mission to spend time with Hermione whenever she could, and soon enough she’d once again become a regular fixture within the Slytherin common-room. She would glide in through the entrance after revealing the password - _ which Hermione _**_knew_ **_she hadn’t given her _ \- and take up a seat on an open couch. Hermione had thought to ask the blonde how she did it one day but eventually decided that leaving the mystery alone was a more amusing outcome.

It was just something that Luna could do, and she enjoyed the reasons _why _ Luna did it.

Waking up in the morning to find Luna curled up atop the nearest couch with a book in her lap and her bag on the floor was amusing more often than not and stirred up some happy portion of her heart at the thought that someone cared so much about her that she’d be there every morning. It was delightful, and the smile it brought to her face was worth far more than the random looks of confusion she received from her Housemates.

But that particular Saturday morning there was no Luna curled up on the couch, nor was she around when Hermione returned from breakfast. The other girl hadn’t made mention of leaving for somewhere else, and so with a faint shrug Hermione retired to her room. When she entered she left her door unlocked, aware that whenever Luna came back she would make an entrance whether the door was locked or not.

A good book was awaiting her and while Hermione settled herself into its pages she also settled herself into position. Her body was propped up atop her bed by pillows and blankets as she consumed the rather large tome; _ Treatise on the Application of Runic Branding, _ a special edition that Madam Pomfrey had secured just for her. Seconds slowly turned over to minutes, minutes rolling into hours, and time quietly passing by as she read through the book.

When she reached chapter twenty-seven Hermione noticed the faintest itch on the skin of her left arm, nothing alarming about it but persistent enough that she had been forced to set the book down to focus on it. Once a few seconds of scratching at it had passed so too did the itch itself, and Hermione returned to her book.

Except that the itch returned not even five minutes later.

She set the book down, scratched, and felt the itch burning away into relief.

It returned, _ again. _

And _again. _

_ Again. _

Soon enough she had pulled her sleeves up - _ Muggle clothing being allowed for weekends and off-hours meant she had a wonderfully comfortable jumper on _ \- and began to scratch valiantly at an itch that just wouldn’t leave. Worse still was the feeling of a budding warmth beneath her skin, the sensation of a raised welt that wasn’t accompanied by any pain.

As Hermione finally reached the zenith of that feeling - _ hot and irritable, her skin aflame and dry _ \- several things happened all at once.

Firstly, the itch faded away into obscurity as if it had never once existed, replaced instead by an unsettling feeling that reminded her of running nails across a chalkboard. Secondly, the door opened and Luna popped in, quietly shutting it behind her as she turned to stare at whatever it was that Hermione was up to.

The last thing Hermione noted was that she had been covered in scales all along her arms, the soft skin that faced her body when she let her arms fall down straight being the only skin still _skin. _ There were - _ against all reason _ \- scales _all _over her body. She wasn’t exaggerating it, Luna’s wide eyes confirmed it, and Hermione just _stared. _

Scales on her arms, her fingers tipped with wicked looking claws that had completely replaced her nails. A tail was poking through the back of her outfit and had been squished into an uncomfortable position due to how she was sitting atop the bed. Her toes had been tipped in claws as well, and there was an odd pressure against the back of her shoulder blades that seemed to flex the longer that she focused on it.

Luna - _ who until this point had remained completely silent _ \- suddenly let out a squeal of delight, _ “I knew it!” _


End file.
